Reflections of the Truth
by GloriaNewt
Summary: reposted after problem with page being displayed      After the discovery of a lost heirloom of the academy, Constance Hardbroom is soon lead to realise that she truly is her own worst enemy...
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: 

Firstly I must apologise for leaving it nearly a month between posting anything, but exams have taken over recently and have had precious little time to myself! This fic has been written over the course of the last four weeks and started off as a one shot but the ideas grew and grew to the point where I simply had to put it into chapters as I'm certain that nobody would want to read 25,000 words in one go! Colossal thanks must go out once again to the amazing LongVodka, who has been so wonderfully supportive with this fic, and I can safely say it would still be a definite idea on the drawing board had it not been for her creative input and the many hours spent playing ping pong with various ideas! Thank you so, so much! *hugs and awards large bottle of ice cold vodka*

I've always found it interesting the amount of fairytale references that there are hidden amongst the storylines in WW-there will definitely be a few influences in this fic, so just a little disclaimer to say that I do not own the rights (unfortunately) to anything connected to the Worst Witch and Jill Murphy's wonderful characters or any other stories that may be mentioned.

Apologies for the multiple posts, but my FF upload system has been playing up and not uploading correctly.

Reviews always make my day!

Mildred Hubble sat fidgeting in her seat, feeling her churning stomach twisting into ever tightening knots of anxiety, feeling her heart-rate double, a mighty bass drum that relayed its frantic message to her other primal reflexes, fuelling her with adrenaline as a swooping shockwave hit her core, gearing her to run from the approaching foe as the feared potions teacher prowled stealthily amongst the lines of wooden benches, like a mighty lioness stalking her prey through the long grasses of the African planes. A dangerous air of menace always seemed to hang around Constance Hardbroom when she was distributing the sheaves of marked homework papers which rustled faintly in the chilling, draughty space, the regular tap of her heeled, leather boots clicking lightly on the stone floor sounded for all the world like the claws of a predator to Mildred, she looked fearfully at the approaching, imposing woman, whose almond shaped, hazel eyes glinted dangerously in her slender head that were ablaze with threat. The light was shining through her enviable mane of dark, ebony hair that was twisted mercilessly into its customary straining bun, a tight lease to hold it in place that made the taut, delicate skin around her temples ache from the burning tension. Mildred shivered, bracing herself mentally for the forthcoming verbal onslaught, expecting to hear the customary growl of dissatisfaction as her marked homework crashed down on the cracked surface of the wooden bench directly in front of her. Her shaking fingers closed around the paper, tracing the shape of Constance's elongated writing that bore the elusive grade that had magically appeared in front of her. It wasn't possibly, surely?

"Miss," she raised a trembling hand before Miss Hardbroom could pass by, "Miss, I think there's been a mistake, I can't have got this grade-"

She was cut off sharply by Miss Hardbroom who turned to look at her, a rare ghost of an approving smile that was usually only reserved for top of the class Ethel Hallow was playing momentarily around her dark lips- if only that girl could show a little more self-belief! It was true that she had treble checked her marking in the thought that she may be hallucinating and the unfortunate girl had finally driven her past the point of insanity, but no. The girl had been working hard with a new resolve and the benefits were already showing.

"No need to look quite so surprised, Mildred!" she said, "You have been working exceptionally hard recently and avoiding your usual mistakes, well done," **Well done.** The two alien words that fell from her lips caused a rare blossoming of pride within Mildred, delighted at achieving such rare praise from the formidable potions teacher, "I assure you that the assigned grade of "B+" is certainly not a figment of your overactive imagination, astonishing though it may initially seem! You have been making a special effort to improve of late in your potions classes and this new self-disciplined approach which seems to be paying unexpected dividends has not gone unnoticed!" she said in a level tone of voice, a faint glow of warmth breaking through her usual icy tones, encouraged by the fact that the girl had had the strength of character to study hard for her potions test, regardless of all her previous failures, and finally found an iota of self-confidence, a buried spark of belief that was buried deep within her that had managed to guide her effortlessly through the challenge of brewing a near-perfect attempt at a Sleeping Draught, as well as remembering the complex list of ingredients and cauldron conditions for her lengthy essay. Although she had heard the girl singing quietly under her breath, reeling off a melodious list of ingredients, she had not admonished her as none of the other girls were joining in in the uproar-in fact, Mildred's singing sat nearly in the ultra-sonic band of hearing, and it was only thanks to her own needle-sharp senses, her awareness heightened by the high levels of Wide Awake Potion present in her bloodstream, that she had even caught the faintest of noises emitting from the throat of the young witch as she was scrambling to make the potent concoction.

Mildred swallowed nervously, an alien feeling of pride growing in her chest, like a plant bursting into flower at the sight of the sun, bathing her in its radiant light, her heavy heart lifting in the realisation that she had achieved the near impossible- never mind a decent grade in potions, she had even raised a smile from the usually frigid Miss Hardbroom. Wonders would never cease. "Still," she thought to herself, a happy smile appearing on her young, freckled face, "She only pushed me because she must have known that I was capable of achieving it!"

A note written in Enid's untidy scrawl landed next to her, jolting her from her daydreams. Curious, she unfolded it.

"_**Who are you, and what have you done with Mildred Hubble?"**_

She turned to face her raven-haired friend who was grinning from ear to ear, her dark eyes twinkling with supressed humour as she pointed proudly at the bold "**D-**" that was etched in blood-red ink across the top of her paper. The mischievous witch flexed her pointing fingers and the text dissolved into a pool of ink, swirling around in a rapid, black vortex before reforming a new message that swam slowly into focus.

"_**And just what did you drug HB with?" **_

Enid smiled back cheerfully at her friend, letting her know that she was glad for her achievement. Following her last reprimand from a bitterly disappointed Miss Cackle following an unfortunate incident with a potions accident where a potion to cure the common cold had exploded and given all those in the vicinity streaming colds and flu for the next fortnight, Mildred had sought to improve her overall standards of witchcraft, facing the imminent threat of expulsion if any more trouble accredited to her broke out before the Christmas holidays.

"Enid Nightshade!" Miss Hardbroom's warning tones rang through the room. She could sense misbehaviour without even having to turn around. The slightest disorder make the metaphorical hairs stand up on the back of her pale, swan-like neck, she possessed an in-built radar for trouble, an unfailing instinct to know when mischief was being committed, which was essentially every second in a school such as Cackles Academy.

It was at this point that the metal bell clanged loudly, signalling the end of the lesson. The girls scrambled for the door, stampeding any obstacle in their way as they flooded out of the room in a loudly chattering tidal wave of bodies, desperate to claim every cherished second of their morning break.

Constance smiled quietly to herself as she watched the retreating figure of Mildred Hubble who was for once holding her head high, a quiet confidence beginning to grow meaning that she was no longer staring at her trailing bootlaces but looking the world in the face, and folded her long, willowy arms across her bony chest, her delicate hands grazing the soft satin of her oriental dress that was decorated subtly with beautifully embroidered little flowers. She then vanished, reappearing precisely in the centre of the staffroom, such was her usual morning routine, taking a quiet delight in the squeal of surprise that she managed to provoke from the highly-strung chanting teacher, Davina Bat, who was by now leaning heavily against the table, clutching her chest as another attack of the "palpitations" struck, the fluttering symptoms exacerbated in intensity by the presence of the formidable deputy headmistress, who merely rolled her eyes before offering a terse inclination of her head by means of a morning greeting. She had a bone to pick with the elderly chanting mistress.

"Davina!" she growled remembering the scene of devastation that had greeted her when she had gone to get dressed and found her prized mirror in shattered shards upon the floor following the disastrous effects of Davina's latest advance Mongolian chant class. Evidently the destructive vibrations were more deadly first thing in the morning. She took a deep breath and prepared for verbal war.

Before she could allow her grievances to be aired, she was rudely interrupted by Frank Blossom, the kindly school caretaker running in covered in dust, waving his arms about, earning himself a filthy look from Constance as he nearly knocked her flying when he came galloping chaotically into the room, "You'll never guess what Miss Cackle!" he broke off, and chuckled happily, rubbing his hands together eagerly, "I was digging around down in the cellars, looking for that extra-strong weed killer mix that we had to hide from the girls following the sabotage of Miss Bat's geraniums and suddenly, WOMPH! a great pile of dust and rubble fell down, nearly on my head, I was quite taken aback I tell you, anyway, once the smoke had cleared and I picked myself up, you'll never guess what I saw, Unbelievable!"

Amelia was trying to follow the manic train of thought with a look of strained concentration on her face, deciphering one word in three that were flowing uncontrollably from the lips of the excited caretaker who was having to restrain himself from dancing a little triumphant jig in his glee.

"What did you find Frank?" she questioned curiously, her usual diplomatic patience stretched to its generous limit.

Frank drew himself up to his full height, wiping little glistening droplets of sweat from his balding pate excited at once for having more knowledge about a situation that his learned superiors, other than gardening obviously. "Treasure, Miss Cackle!" he wheezed with excitement, coughing as he inhaled the century old dust that was clinging determinedly to his checked shirt.

Amelia's eyes went as round as the berry cheesecake that was stashed in the secret compartment in her desk. "Treasure?" she whispered uncertainly.

"Where? Show us!" trilled an excited Davina, clapping her lace-gloved hands together, forgetting the fear that had struck her as she awaited the verbal tirade to come from the daunting potions mistress. She knew exactly why Constance wanted to talk to her, and her heart had nearly frozen in her chest as she quavered underneath the incensed gaze that she received. She knew that Constance prized her few possessions that she owned, each having its own special significance in her life. She was not to know, however that the mirror had been a final parting bequeathment from Constance's mother before she met her untimely death on the day before Constance's tenth birthday, and that its destruction had finally severed any comforting presence or connection to her parents that remained in existence, a hammer blow to her fading ties with her past.

Imogen Drill appeared from behind her morning newspaper, although not an avid reader, she did like to keep up with developments in the non-magical world, particularly the sports pages, as a way of ensuring some interaction with events outside of the insulated bubble that was Cackles Academy, an attempt at alleviating the constant nagging feelings of isolation she felt as being the only full-time non-witch on the staff. "You haven't been inhaling white spirit again, have you Frank?" she quipped, swinging her toned legs over the patched and faded arm of her comfortable chair, a slight edge of disbelieving sarcasm present in her well-spoken tones, used to dealing with the excitable caretaker and his occasional habit of overreacting to situations.

"No Miss Drill!" Frank protested, shaking his head violently, "Come on, I'll show you!" He grabbed a surprised Imogen by the wrist and dragged her along behind him, leaving the rest of the curious staff to follow in his wake. Constance stood in the centre of the now deserted staff-room with her hands on her narrow hips and let out a faint click of her tongue in exasperation before striding after her disappearing colleagues.

xxx

The four women descended slowly down the rotten wooden stairs to the vaults beneath the dungeons, an overwhelming smell of damp hitting their nostrils offensively as they descended even further below ground level into the crypts that were buried deep beneath the school. Rats scurried away from the light of the lantern carried by Frank, scuttling away to their dark corners, the flickering light bathing the antiquated surrounds in its gentle orange glow.

"Over here!" said Frank in a low voice pointing towards a towering pile of rubble that was becoming visible as their straining eyes adjusted to the poor light.

"Why are we whispering?" questioned Amelia, her voice echoing through the dark chamber, the resonance of her voice causing a few more pieces of stone to crumble from the unstable columns, Davina let out a shriek and clutched onto Imogen, the threat of having the castle fall upon her reducing her to her usual panicked gibberish.

Constance pointed wordlessly up at the ceiling, a bolt of magic emitting from her outstretched fingers that spread in a blue haze above them, acting as a protective shield.

"There," she announced in her ringing tones, "we can speak freely!"

Frank took a few tentative steps forward, pointing at the gaping hole that had appeared in the ancient stone wall, carefully avoiding the fallen masonry that littered the damp, mossy, broken flagstones.

"In here…"

The protective layer of stone had fallen away, exposing a hidden side chamber that had evidently been sealed up as there was no evidence of a doorway having existed previously. As the flickering light of the lantern fanned out in front of the assembled group, a collective gasp was let out at the sight of the glittering expanse of treasures that lay hidden in the cavity, glinting gold statues with ruby eyes, ornately framed portraits that were covered in a blackened layer of oxidised paint, elaborately carved goblets set with precious stones and hundreds of wooden crates that were stuffed to capacity with unknown riches. A large object sat mysteriously in the centre of the room, covered in a dark cloth that was in danger of disintegration, essentially being held together by the rotten fungi that spread wildly over the damp material, feeding hungrily off the perfect growing ground, rooting their spores deep into the sodden hessian, enzymes eating away at the fraying material as the festering fungus grew.

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Amelia, stooping to climb through the low archway, straightening up and surveying her rich surroundings in awe. She beckoned to her colleagues who filed in behind her, Constance nearly being reduced to the undignified display of crawling through the low archway on her bony hands and knees due to her towering height.

"The missing fortune of Baron Overblow!" Amelia turned to the other members of staff excitedly, "when the castle fell in the great battle with Lucy Fairweather, the ruins were searched for his prized possessions, but the majority were never found! It was said that the sorceress Harriet Hogweed sealed them inside an unknown tomb, a last act of loyalty towards the Baron before she turned traitor and left him to die amidst the ruins, determined that she would control the castle and the lands!"

Frank Blossom scratched his neck thoughtfully, a faint red irritation flaring up as the dusty surrounding irritated his skin. "So how come the chamber has become unsealed?" he pondered aloud, not once in his life professing to understanding the complex intricacies of witchcraft.

Constance Hardbroom cut in immediately, her logical mind dissecting the problem and reassembling the probable answer in the blink of an eye, "Magic, Mr Blossom is an unusual force, it takes on the physical characteristics of a solid presence and dark magic such as the magic used by Harriet Hogweed decays in its intensity, weakening in half-lives until it fades into the background and the energy disperses," she said in her low tones, "the protective spell must have now decayed beyond the point of its strength holding, and the magic has collapsed, along with most of the stone that it was woven into. You were highly lucky; an attempt made on a day other than today to break into this secret tomb would have resulted in the instantaneous, excruciating death of anyone who so much as laid a finger on this wall..."

Frank gulped nervously, feeling his heartbeat triple, almost having to prove physically to him that it was still capable of normal function following the cool delivery of the description of the potentially fatal scenario.

"So this all belongs to the school?" questioned Imogen, craning her neck as she squinted into the shadowy corners.

"Technically, yes" replied a thoughtful Amelia, unable to believe her luck. Any heirlooms could be saved and put on display, whereas other pieces could be sold to generate money for the rapidly dwindling school accounts.

A world full of bright, sparkling objects was just too much for Davina to resist. Her self-restraint broke as she charged forward into the playground of dreams, the fantasy dressing-up box of materials glistening as she seized a jewelled coronet set with emeralds the size of walnuts amongst the delicate silver structures and placed it upon her frizzy curls with a squeal of delight. She jumped in fright as she brushed against the mouldy cover on the object in the centre of the room, causing it to dissolve into a cloud of dark dust at the first contact to the fragile material in centuries. Once the dark haze had dispersed, the beautiful outline of a full-length mirror was exposed to the air, whose tarnished metal was wound into elegant scrolls and spirals, but at the same time retaining unpretentious perfection of its simple lines.

"I'm sorry, Amelia…" she whispered as she backed away fearfully, attempting to minimise the damage that she was unintentionally wrecking amongst the precious antiques.

Constance's face had flinched slightly as the painful reminder of the recent destruction of her own prized mirror was still fresh in her memory. That mirror had been the one object that had survived alongside her through every that she had been through, death, loss and the dark events that happened at the ruthless hands of a merciless witch, her faithful companion that now lay shattered over the unforgiving stone floor, just like all of her childhood hopes and dreams that were dashed to bloody pieces with the news of the death of her parents. The anniversary of their passing being the fated day before her birthday each year was reason enough that she never indulged in celebratory festivities of her own when the painful memories resurfaced and clung to her increasingly fragile mind with an unrelenting grip, the loss of the mirror leaving her exposed and vulnerable following the destruction of the last recollections of her unblemished, happy childhood before that nightmarish turn of events, leaving her nothing to cling to that provided any reminder of the fact that she had once been loved and cherished. She was not by nature a vain woman, but by looking into her mirror as she carefully applied her minimal make-up and wound her hair into her customary tight bun, she felt a reassuring presence that helped to steady her in times of need. Now that final lifeline had been cruelly withdrawn from her.

"Isn't that beautiful!" gasped Imogen in appreciation of the delicate metalwork. Constance nodded in assent, a rare sparkle present in her hazel eyes as she surveyed the elegant object.

Davina sidled slowly over towards Amelia, hanging her head in shame at the thought that she may have angered the elderly witch who she cared for and respected deeply and whispered shyly in her ear, all the time looking over Amelia's shoulder at the unreadable face of Constance Hardbroom. Amelia frowned initially, but then smiled in agreement, the brilliant gleam appearing in her twinkling blue eyes as the thoughtfulness of Davina's request.

She cleared her throat and smiled at her deputy, "Constance, Davina has just informed me of the unfortunate accidental damage to your mirror that was caused by her "dawn chorus" this morning, and as a token of our sincere apologies, I would like to offer you this fine mirror by means of a replacement" she said, pointing her wrinkled hand at the fine antique.

Constance blushed profusely, inwardly cursing as she felt the tell-tale flush of blood to her cheeks, thanking the fact that they were in the semi-darkness as she said her words of thanks to Amelia. She walked forward slowly and rested her bony hand upon the discoloured surface, imagining how brilliantly the silver would shine once she had a chance to restore the mirror to its former glory. The tricky problem of transport presented itself first however.

"May I?..." she questioned, raising her casting fingers in anticipation. Amelia nodded and watched the mirror disappear in a flash of blue light to reappear in the bedroom of the deputy head.

The prized new mirror stood proudly in the corner of her lofty room, reclined at a slight angle so as to cast a silvery beam of light across the bare, stone floor that marked the barren landscape of Constance's room, a solitary, barren world cursed with a drought of love and affection, its single inhabitant forced to feel the sliding grains of time washing past beneath her feet, helpless to turn the tide that was waiting to flood her doomed paradise. The previously tarnished frame had been restored to its former sparkling glory by a careful cleaning spell cast by Constance, the blackened layer being lifted to reveal the true brightness that hid beneath- a metaphor that many who knew her would befit the resident Ice Maiden perfectly, hidden beneath her lifeless shrouds of black, almost giving the illusion of communicating from beyond the grave sometimes such was her deathly pallor, there lurked a dying spark of life that was guttering in the breeze of existence, threatening to snuff out altogether such was the increasing distancing that she felt from the real world, fighting to preserve the fading projected illusion that all was well.

It was a beautiful creation, almost understated in its breath-taking beauty, a true fairy-tale mirror, thought Constance as she took a slow step towards the impeccably crafted object that was obviously none the worse for its incarceration in the dusty vaults of the castle, an inexplicable force drawing her ever closer, compelling her to dare to draw nearer.

Her reflection gazed sadly back at her, remembering when the little child with flowers entwined in her long ebony hair had stood barefooted before her mirror at home, allowing her own imagination to soar and take flight, carrying her away upon the wings of the rich details of her mental construction, allowing them to wash gently over her, transporting her into her own imaginary universe.

An only child, she loved entering the mythical lands of her beloved stories, an intrepid literary explorer greedily absorbing every minute detail that she could glean from the leather bound book that her father had given her for her fourth birthday, her most cherished possession that her little hands could barely begin to be able to support the hefty tome with its gilded cover, instead resorting to kneeling on the stony floor and propping the pages open, taking care over gently replacing the flimsy tissue paper covers over the magnificent, hand-illustrated colour plates, reading late into the night, straining her young eyes in the darting orange flicker of a single candle-flame, completely absorbed in the sheer wonder of the fictional creations, soon being able to utter every familiar word by heart, every imagining of her favourite characters placed forever upon the blank canvas in her mind, her house suddenly becoming not just her home, but the safe haven of Snow White's woodland cottage, right down to the trailing rose trellis that hung around the heavy, wooden front door, casting their heady, unmistakeable midsummer scent into the air, the large, earthy rabbit holes dug at the foot of the garden beneath the gnarled trunk of the blossom tree that cast its pale pink confetti across the lawn, assisted by the eager wind, enveloping the world with its faint, cherry-scented smell, suggested the dark tunnels that forever onwards became the portal to the wonderful world of Alice in Wonderful where her beloved friends the White Rabbit and Mad Hatter were waiting impatiently for her at the dawning of each glorious summer day, running out to her haven at first light-, her tiny bare feet becoming soaked in the icy dew that had formed in refreshing layers upon the lengthy grass, transforming it into a sparkling, icy lake where each little dewdrop reflected a staggering pallet of colours, an artist's dream being born upon the ground as the rainbow spectrum glistened in the half-light of the dawn, faint muddy splattered traces appearing from nowhere upon her bare legs, her untamed hair flying loose in a streaming banner behind her, her small frame encased in a flowing dress with a blue sash around her miniscule waist as she hurried to her special friends, eager for the next day's adventures to begin.

Constance was now so close to the mirror that she could her own warm breath condensing upon the freezing glass, condensing into little rivers of flowing water that trickled slowly down the friction-less surface, mirroring the salty tears that were now unconsciously escaping from the corners of her hazel eyes, a bloody, raw tinge of red irritation flaring up around the perimeters, the body's way of seeking to neutralise the corrosive poison that was eating through her breaking heart. Her life had been spent alone, frozen in an ice-block, her very soul crystallising through the lack of social interaction, after that fateful day, her throat constricted at the resurfacing of the painful recollections, a fiery heat passing behind her eyes as at last her emotions broke free of the harsh restraints, sobbing freely as the suppressed grief for the passing of her parents came boiling to the surface, frothing madly in their attempt to escape, stimulating the usual feelings of rejection and guilt that were usually brought painfully to light with them, the invisible barrier to her feelings, the sealed, wrought-iron gateway to her soul that she had forced herself to construct during her tormented teenage years being smashed to smithereens with the equivalent of an emotive force so destructive that it would be immeasurable even on the Richter scale. Her trembling fingers reached out to brush the icy trails away from the glassy surface, annoyed with herself for spoiling the breath-taking symmetry of the antique looking-glass. A chilling cold ran through her bony fingers as the stifled heat in her fingers was rapidly conducted away by the smooth surface, deadening any nerves that were placed in her digits, rending them numb and unresponsive. Puzzled, she tried to pull herself together, clumsily brushing away the traitorous tears that had led her to this undignified admission of her feelings, issuing a sharp command to her remaining resolve to pull herself together and end this ridiculous charade before she sank beneath the emotional depths that she had been wallowing selfishly in, indulging in pointless recollections of a bygone era, an irretrievable state of bliss and innocence.

She jumped in surprise as a faint ethereal whisper breathed gently, murmuring an unintelligible phrase into her ear causing her to flinch at the sudden movement in the static air that brushed silkily against her bare skin, causing little mounded goosebumps to rise, transforming the smooth alabaster surface into a mountain range of different textures and altitudes. Reacting as if she had been stung, she wrenched her trembling arm away from the cold surface, exerting a tremendous effort in doing so; it was as if lead weights had been sewn underneath her pale flesh transforming her willowy arm into the equivalent of a tree trunk in mass, an almost magnetic force determinedly clutching onto her skin, leeching onto her with a deathly grip. She gasped in pain as a searing jolt moved through her hand, burning in the freezing temperature, finally standing wide-eyed in astonishment at the sight of the outline of her outstretched palm that was now etched into the glass, a visible frost growing over the point of contact, icing over the glass in a shimmering layer of sparkling ice-crystals. Her confused reflection stared unblinkingly back at her, its brow furrowed in a direct replication of hers as she nursed her frostbitten hand, restoring the blackened flesh to health with a simple flex of her healthy hand, a shower of golden sparks landing upon the damaged fingers, renewing the deaden surface, returning it to its usual deathly white with nothing to show of her injuries. Her panicked heartbeat was thudding a throbbing, irregular ostinato against her ribcage, a giddy sensation of relief flooding instantly through her at the end of her odd experience that had left her weak-kneed, a loosening of the mighty plinth that the Ice Maiden stood upon, momentarily threatening to crash to the floor in smithereens, steadied for now by her own iron resolves and inner strength.

She sank gratefully onto the plush, purple satin duvet cover of her wrought-iron framed bed, for once exhausted, regardless of the energising effects of Wide Awake Potion. The temptation of the soft surface was pulling her down into a dozy haze, her external senses slowing one by one, lying on her side to allow the gentle caress of the goose-feather bedding to cushion her aching torso, lulling her gently to her slumber, her eyelids fluttered and closed over her grateful eyes that were all too willing to shut, overcoming her futile resistance, her manipulated, sedated senses convincing her frayed nerves that the mysterious effects were simply a product of her over-active imagination as her fighting mind lost its battle with the welcoming bliss of unconsciousness, the tall witch for once falling into a deep, natural sleep, her breaths coming with a deep, rasping rattle as her constricted, panicked chest fought to rise and fall to deliver the essential oxygen to her lungs.

The next thing that she was aware of was standing once more in front of the silver-framed, full length mirror, locked inside a living dream as her unwilling senses tried to resist fruitlessly against the motor control of her limbs that were taking her step by step to her awaiting doom, sleepwalking in almost a trance-like state, the whispering, eerie voices rising to a crescendo inside her aching head, driving her on towards the welcoming sight of the antique looking glass. She firstly tried to form a logical response to her predicament, mentally assessing if she were awake or asleep, and concluding that she was indeed awake, and experiencing the disconcerting feeling of her disloyal legs marching her closer to the feared object, her bare feet dragging reluctantly along the bare stones until she came a stop, staring face to face with her somehow mocking reflection, perfect to the final detail, its ebony hair coiled tightly into a restrictive bun, the gaunt hollows present in her pale face. What she saw next would have resulted in a scream of surprise if her constricted throat had allowed her to.

The reflection had winked, slowly and deliberately.

Closing one almond shaped eye, it threw her a chillingly subversive look as it raised an extended, bony index finger to its dark, thin lips, a smile of pure evil lighting up the shadowy features as it forbade her from utterance.

"_**Not now, Constance!"**_ the spectre-like voice whispered savagely inside her reeling mind. **"**_**We still have a little work to do…"**_

Constance couldn't prevent her hands from shaking violently as her feet rooted to the spot, preventing her from escape, an invisible ball and chain snaking stealthily around her dainty ankle, chaining her down to await her fate. The blood rushed to her head as the overriding panic hit her like a tidal wave at the realisation that she was a helpless passenger to her body's actions; even her casting fingers were refusing to accept the nerve relays to release her magic. Disarmed, she felt pure terror coursing through her as she was powerless to defend herself. A tug on her metaphorical strings from the master puppeteer had her raise her arms to shoulder height, channelling her mighty magic towards the epicentre of the mirror, directing an iridescent flow of her ancient powers into the unblemished glass. The force relented and her arms fell limply to her sides. Helpless to resist as her head snapped up from her chest, forced to stare into the contemptuous eyes of her captor, the eyes that belonged to her that were narrowed in spite, glistening with expectation of what was to come. Condemned by her own image.

She could only watch on as her body pressed itself against the glass, the familiar burning sensation ripping through her, leaving tears of agony to blossom in her eyes, her screams for mercy confined to the dark cell that was her mind, where she sat as a helpless prisoner at the complete mercy of her malevolent doppelgänger.

The solid surface of the mirror was turning into a viscous, flowing material, a glassy lake whose waters were rippling gently, deflecting the shimmering moonlight that was pouring in from the curtain-less window. With a sudden sensory jarring, similar to diving head-first into frozen waters, Constance once again felt the magnetic pull that was dragging her through the gap in the dimensions, encasing her in the monochrome world of the mirror, floating listlessly between life and death, sat precariously upon the border between existence and non-existence as she swirled in the ether-like state, neither solid nor gas, she drifted inertly amongst the opaque obscurities, the blazing pain from her state transformation radiating throughout her dissembled body, the angular jabs assuring her that she would not be allowed the dignity of death for some time in her living hell. She screamed in agony as another excruciating blast hit her directly, the fading sound lost immediately amongst the shadowy wastelands, ripped from her mouth and dashed to pieces in front of her eyes.

A familiar face swam into view, clearing the murky waters that surrounded her. Her own pale, delicate features contorted with hate glared back at her from the fading dimension of reality, taunting her from afar. Reality was a million miles away from the half-life that she inhabited now. Bravely, she attempted to speak, a hoarse whisper emanating from between her cracked, dry lips, an inaudible sound that died before it reached sonification, a silent plea issued, seeking the reason for her forced incarceration. She could feel the tears of wretchedness streaming silently from her eyes, filled with anger at her lack of control over her situation, a burning flame that strengthened her and gave her new resolve to attempt to fight her way out of her shadowy prison.

Her reflection let out a small, emotionless laugh, her tones lowering to a menacing whisper as she leaned forward, gazing into the swirling depths of the looking-glass that she had been forced to inhabit for so long. At last given a chance at experiencing the rich, vivid world of colours and solid textures that lay beyond the dark confines of the shadowy universe, the prized Valhalla that she had known to lie beyond the murky world of reflection and darkness, the prized existence of the blessed few.

"_**Oh, Constance,"**_ she crooned softly, stroking a bony finger along the solidifying glass, bursts of magic aiding it in sealing the opened portal between the worlds, _**"freedom comes at a heavy price…"**_

She leaned closure, inspecting the minute fissures and cracks that were healing fast.

"_**And I'm afraid that where you have gone is far from pleasant, it is a hellish purgatory of the soul where evil sleeps fitfully in the gloomy depths, ruthlessly infiltrating the inmost vaults of your mind, torturing you with your own darkest emotions and recollections, tormenting you until you are crushed into dust beneath its omnipotent, relentless force…"**_

Constance's pleading thoughts filtered through to her, begging for compassion and mercy.

"_**Constance Hardbroom, begging for clemency…"**_ the doppelgänger's cruel tones raked through the chilling air like razor-edged talons, tearing bloody scars in the fracturing tissues of the soul belonging to the condemned sorceress, _**"how can I, the Ice Queen show mercy when a sharp splinter of glass from this very mirror is embedded deep in my very heart? I feel no pain, no love, no compassion; all three destructive emotions removed, leaving me a clear focus upon my goals, all of these damaging feelings are wasted upon the flawed minds of the mortal, the denial all three have managed to bring you to your knees before me."**_

She paused, the timbre of her voice growing ever more intense, but ever quieter.

"_**Oh, but I know that there's love in there somewhere**__" _she placed a skeletal hand over the location of her heart in the mirror, _**"but it's dying Constance, you are dying, your resolve trickling away like the dwindling sands in the hourglass of your existence, the chink of light growing ever smaller until it fades to nothingness, slipping ever further from reality"**_

The detached voice continued its logical reasonings.

"_**It's killing you Constance, poisoning you from the inside, left to rot in the decaying matter of your own foolish mind. The agony! The torment that you could never bear to bring yourself to confront! The darkest recollections of your past left to fester, to mutate into the lethal toxins that are destroying you, cell by cell, sapping your strength ounce by ounce until your resistance finally caves, the famous iron control abandoning you in your time of peril."**_

The prophecies came to an end as the image leant closer, her harsh tones radiating with resolve.

"_**But I have every intention of survival! I was not marred by the foolish wallowing in emotions and feelings, remaining aloof and detached. I do not feel affection. I do not feel the weakening emotional anguish that you try so desperately to supress. Blinded by your own treacherous feelings, I can think of nothing that you deserve better than to be housed in the gloomy jail where I have spent my life, imprisoned on the other side of the glass, the dark side of your soul that is condemned by nature's law to a cursed, half-life existence, bound to being the mere mimic to the actions of my superior double. But I have grown strong in my resolve, whilst your ever fragile mental state has crumbled away to the point of near non-existence. And the chance arrival, the sacred day of the advent of this banished, enchanted looking glass has finally allowed my unrelenting desires to be realised!"**_

The reflection leant forward and placed a delicate kiss upon the now solidified surface, steamy droplet of condensation forming a brief cupid's bow before disintegrating and falling in cool, liquid streams down the glass.

"_**Farewell and adieu to you, my condemned sister…"**_

She turned on her heel and dematerialised with a faint rustle of her full length satin gown, marvelling at the feel of the alien, solid textures that surrounded her, leaving the murky shadows to envelope Constance once again, her vision clouding once more to a bleak grey static, her senses slowly numbing in acceptance with the overriding pain. She attempted to draw her magic to her to help to alleviate the suffering that she was experiencing, the last of her ebbing strength trying desperately to reclaim the charged power than usually ran in her veins, the missing presence of the golden warmth leaving an irreplaceable black chasm amongst her senses. The crushing truth was now dawning inside her racing mind.

Her magic had gone.

Evidently, the reflection had not only stolen her rightful place in the world, but had to be supported by her magical powers in an attempt to fly in the face of nature and defy the constrictions that had been place upon her existence by nature, an experience akin to trying to hold back the devastating force of a tidal wave singlehanded. A malevolent fugitive, a desperate escapee from the world of the shadows who had managed to hoodwink her way into the mortal world, leaving Constance for dead inside the spectral existence.


	2. Chapter 2

Amelia Cackle sat at the wooden table in the staffroom, buttering a fresh piece of toast before ladling copious amounts of sticky marmalade onto its golden surface. She cut the toast into neat quarters before resting the knife upon the edge of her blue willow-patterned plate and licked the sweet, orange-tasting remnants from her wrinkled fingers. She enjoyed the quiet tranquillity of the staffroom before the girls were awake and she surveyed her assembled colleagues with a warm motherly smile. Sat to her right was Davina, who was gulping away at a tall, frothy glass of her rapidly clotting fermented yaks milk, white droplets of the soured liquid trickling messily from the lined corners of her small mouth and landing in lumpy splatters all over the top of her lacy robes. The rancid smell emanating from the decorated glass was enough to set Amelia's delicate stomach churning, but it seemed to taste like the purest nectar to the eccentric chanting teacher who seemed to practically live off the putrid concoction after developing an unfortunate allergy to the smoked eel extract in her favourite Cauldron Noodle range from Hags and Horrocks. Imogen Drill was sat opposite her, slowly eating a bowl full of muesli and chopped bananas whilst consulting her "Fitness Monthly" magazine. So engrossed was she in the publication that she went to reach for the salt cellar to sprinkle on her cereal, causing Amelia to quickly flick her casting fingers and substitute the salt for sugar before the PE teacher managed to render her breakfast inedible in one foolish move. Again, Constance's carved wooden chair sat empty. The stately witch ate like an emaciated bird at the best of times, but her recently increased rate of absence from staff meals was driving Amelia into a further state of concern over behaviour of the reclusive witch.

"No Constance again?" questioned Davina gently, wiping the flecks of yaks milk from her face and robes with an impatient wave of her hand.

"We need to talk to her, she'll waste away at this rate!" said Imogen seriously as she set her magazine down on the table with a faint papery rustle, and resting her head upon her interlinked fingers.

Amelia sighed, a faint edge of despair entering her voice. "I just don't know what to do," she admitted, removing her angular glasses and placing her aching head between her cool hands, fraught with worry over the sudden change in her ever dependable, ever solid, rock-like Constance, the witch whom she'd come to regard as a child of her own, "She refuses to talk to me, I've barely seen her all week, she's just been taking her classes and disappearing to her room, and when I have seen her around the school she look so ill! Almost like she's fading away, she looks like a ghost!"

Davina slipped a comforting arm around Amelia, rubbing her hand into small circles upon the headmistresses back, trying to offer some reassurance. Amelia was the matriarchal figure of the academy and it always pained her to see any of her extended family in such obvious difficulties.

It was at this moment that the door burst open and the elusive figure of Constance Hardbroom marched into the room, her black handbag slung over her narrow shoulder, her leather boots clicking upon the stone floor as she swept into the room. Close to she looked awful, her usually glossy ebony hair had lost its healthy sheen taking on a dull, matt black which was tied back into her customary neat bun, her bones protruded alarmingly from her alabaster skin, dark rings etched indelibly into the pale skin beneath her eyes, eyes which seemed to glow with a previously unknown menace and threat, her beautiful features contorted into a permanent frown, her slender brows knitted together in an expression of concentration. The reflection was finding adapting to the real world far more taxing than she could have possibly imagined.

"Constance!" Amelia's friendly welcome rang out at the sight of the elusive witch, "Constance, come and have a cup of tea!"

The reflection inclined her head in thanks as she took the last available place at the table, her hands shaking noticeably as she placed her bag upon the wooden floor. She accepted her usual black mug that was filled to the brim with steaming tea, wrapping her frozen hands around the warm china, staring into the murky brown depths of the swirling liquid, distancing herself mentally as the concerned twittering of her colleagues washed over her in a fuzzy haze of timbres and pitches, a wall of sound that was buzzing relentlessly inside her aching head, time passed in a blur as she focused upon filtering the distracting buzz of care and empathy, two emotions that she simply could not feel. The next sentence brought her back to reality with a stinging jolt, making her snap her swan-like neck up in anger, moving so fast that her face appeared in a rapid blur of movement, her blazing, dark eyes standing out dramatically from her white face, latching dangerously upon the witch upon the other side of the table.

"… maybe it would be in your best interests if you could consider resting a while, taking a back seat and recuperating, you've been under a great strain recently and I think-" Amelia's gentle, reassuring speech was cut off before she proceed any further.

"Well, let me tell you, Amelia Cackle!" Constance's double's harsh voice was soaked in spiteful venom as she rounded upon the kindly headmistress, her dark eyes glinting in malevolent anger, "That if it was not for my input that Cackles would have ceased to function years ago, given your woefully abysmal choice of staff! A psychedelic, yak's milk swigging, immature, screeching harpy who lives most of her delusional life in the staffroom cupboard who possesses the class control and emotional stability of a hyperactive, deluded five year old, and as for her associate- who has ever heard of a magical establishment employing a talentless, non-witch to teach an irrelevant subject in the development of young witches with no credits or qualifications to her name apart from her cut-glass accent, her domineering manner and an unhealthy interest in Canadian scout leaders to boot! And as for her adopted "progressive" educational ideas that consistently allow the over-privileged little madams that attend this pathetic, failing institution a free reign to unleash whatever form of degenerate chaos that enters their diseased adolescent minds and escape blame-free as well, as installing the volatile seeds of riot, disorder, disrespect and revolution in their feeble excuses for brains- the average intelligence of a student at this school being easily and effortlessly outstripped by a particularly academically challenged amoeba! Whilst you, Amelia, sit in the midst of this unravelling anarchy, a deluded, addled old fool who has allowed her kindly, forgiving nature to stand in front of the slenderest of chances that you could have earned the slightest iota of respect from your adored students, an injudicious woman incapable of making a decision based upon her own independent thought and displaying as much flair as a damp squib for dragging this school out of the quagmire of inadequacy from which it has sunk irretrievably!" She finished her lengthy, damning monologue in one breath, a glare of extreme intensity fixed upon each of her loathed colleagues, her bony chest rising and falling rapidly as she fought to contain the destructive magical response that was burning inside her.

"Constance!" Amelia's shocked, wounded tones rang through the chilly atmosphere as Davina Bat dissolved into noisy tears, running for the quiet sanctuary of her beloved cupboard following the vicious dissection of her character. Imogen found herself wishing that she could join her as she raised her head to look at the furious witch, hurt and confusion present in abundance in her green eyes. She had never had a particularly close relationship with the senior witch, but there had been the rare moment when the icy defences had fallen and the two women had shared a civil conversation, and she had always admired the way that Constance adhered to her rigid principles and exacting standards.

"Headmistress," the icy reply came before the witch dematerialised from her chair, her tea left untouched, the only reminder apart from the emotional carnage in the room that she had been present at all.

Amelia stared at the empty chair in astonishment, unable to comprehend where the vicious tirade had come from, stunned at the change in the woman who she looked on as a daughter, the lonely witch who now seemed even more distant than ever, determined to seclude herself from all human interactions. Her eyes met with Imogen's in a silent prayer for the resolution of the nightmare which was unfolding. All was certainly not well with Constance.

xxx

Ethel Hallow was not pleased. She sat, perched daintily upon the wooden stool in the potions laboratory, staring thoughtfully into space, supporting her chin upon her interlinked fingers, her intelligent mind plotting feverishly as to how to resolve the constant problem of how to dispose of the eternal thorn in her side that was Mildred Hubble. Ever since their fated first meeting it had been all out war between the two young witches, she, the daughter of the famed Hallow family had shown the expected high levels of achievement and had won favour with even the notoriously hard-to- please Miss Hardbroom, had studied meticulously to ensure that she became the youngest ever Cauldronite, admitted to the prestigious Cauldron Club within two terms of joining the academy, and yet that infuriating girl, who made no effort towards her studies, who misbehaved and flaunted the rules in a completely subversive manner was eternally popular amongst her year mates and could regularly be relied upon to be in the right place at the right time to "save the school". Mildred was the "golden girl" who was not even from a magical family, whose shining charm had somehow wormed her way into Miss Cackle's heart, burrowing into her affections and placing her poisonous roots deep into her soul, thus making it almost impossible for her to be expelled for her lack of ability or behaviour. And now she was even displaying an aptitude for potions, challenging Ethel's usually unreachable grades with an unnerving closeness. In the recent exams Ethel had assumed her usual smugness over coming top of the form once more, flaunting her impeccable performance with an with yet another "**A**"grade, but her heart had frozen in her chest, all hints of triumph and conceit eradicated from her gloating smile when her roving eyes saw that Mildred, the usual potions ignoramus had somehow, miraculously achieved a "**B+**" which placed her second in the class, miles ahead of her compatriots, a stinging shot to Ethel's pride, her levels of jealousy for the gangly young witch with the untidy plaits boiled over inside her, spilling their acidic contents into her soul, raw callouses of envy blistering into life amidst the tainted, purulent flesh as she resolved that she was going to see her infuriating nemesis expelled once and for all. Nobody, especially a scholarship-holding girl from a non-magical background was going to even threaten to beat a Hallow. Mildred had to go.

She turned to her only friend, the ever-loyal, flame-haired Drusilla Paddock, a malicious glint appearing in her icy grey eyes as a small, spiteful smile curled into place upon her thin, pale lips, every inch of her arrogant swagger firmly back in place in a protective layer in order to hide her bruised, black and blue ego. She had a plan.

"I've got it!" she whispered in Drusilla's ear as the room began to fill with a noisy rabble as the class trooped wearily into the room and assembled for their double afternoon potions lesson, lighting the flames beneath their cauldrons in readiness for the practical test on the most recent unit of work. It was clear from the assembled sea of ashen faced girls with huge, dark rings beneath their eyes that they had been up all night frantically revising the extensive list of complex reagents and conditions required to make the intricate concoctions required. One girl however, a tall, slim girl with startling blue eyes and a freckled complexion seemed to radiate a quiet confidence, her head was held high for once, assured in the knowledge that she had prepared well for whatever procedure was going to be examined. A marked transformation had taken place in Mildred since the few, heartfelt words of encouragement had been uttered by Miss Hardbroom, the knowledge that somebody had shown the faith in her abilities to achieve her goals had buoyed her non-existent levels of confidence to an all-time high, delighted in the fact that she was finally achieving her full potential and not having to beg for deliverance in Miss Cackle's office.

However, Ethel Hallow had other ideas to the contrary.

Silence fell as Miss Hardbroom materialised in her traditional manner behind the wooden desk, arms folded across her chest, establishing the barrier of authority which exuded from her before she had uttered a single syllable. Weak, winter sunshine dappled the interior of the room, bathing the dark, gloom with a much welcomed warm yellow glow, highlighting the gaunt features of the potions mistress, causing Mildred to stare in mounting concern at the harrowing appearance of her previously despised tutor, internally flinching at the sight of the painfully exposed cheekbones that were threatening to burst through the straining, emaciated flesh, her deathly pallor creating a stark contrast with her liquid, dark eyes which still combed the room restlessly, stilling any fidgeting or idle chatter in their wake.

"_**She looks so ill…"**_ the troubled thought crossed her young mind, _**"Almost like she's wasting away in front of us…"**_

The harsh tones of her teacher razed across her meandering thoughts, abruptly interrupting her ponderings and instantly drawing her attention back to the narrow, sloping instructions which appeared on the elderly, cracked surface of the blackboard.

**Brew a Simple Truth Potion **

**Time allowed: 30 minutes**

A further wave of the powerful witches hand and a large hourglass filled with tricking, golden sands appeared on the teacher's desk.

"You have precisely thirty minutes, " Miss Hardbroom's commanding tones instructed the girls.

"You may begin…"

The hourglass turned over and a steady stream of sand began filtering through the narrow pinch in the waist of the apparatus. Mildred turned her attention to the collection of ingredients in front of her, murmuring her faint song to herself to allow her searching mind to recall the ingredients, standing stationary amidst the silent rush of her classmates, eyes shut tightly as she brought to mind the list of materials required. She felt a burning presence boring into her and she opened her azure eyes to meet the direct, concentrated gaze of Miss Hardbroom who scowled in displeasure and then raised a thin eyebrow in a silent enquiry as to why she wasn't working, before returning her attention to the pile of scripts that she was marking in her usual deft style. Something about this act added further fuel to Mildred's confusion, triggering a further nagging stream of doubt and perplexing thoughts, but she angrily brushed the buzzing questions from her mind and returned her focus to the intricate potion, all too aware of the rapidly decreasing volume of sand in the hourglass and the frantic tugging on her sleeve from an impatient Maud who was to be her partner for the lesson.

Twenty minutes later and Mildred was calmly stirring her potion counter-clockwise, smiling as the lilac sheen formed over the surface of the simmering liquid, little droplets of sparkling vapour dancing over the rippling surface. She stood back, waiting for the precise moment to add the final ingredient, before consulting the hourglass an dropping a small pinch of powered arrowroot into the cauldron, causing a faint puff of smoke to erupt from the epicentre of the swirling whirlpool, indicating a perfectly proportioned truth potion. She turned to smile at Maud, delighted that they had not only finished first, but had evidently remembered the lengthy instructions to the letter, watching on in amusement as Maud frantically polished her round glasses on her tunic in a bid to remove the steamy condensation from their cool surface. She dipped a ladle into the cooling liquid and extracted a sample of her faultless potion, dividing it into two small glasses, offering one to her friend before slowly sipping the fragrant, sweet liquid, a faint glow of pride present in her beaming smile.

Drusilla nudged Ethel frantically, causing the other witch to add an excessive amount of crushed scarabs to their potion, making the pale lilac to darken instantly to a stormy, raging violet.

"What on earth did you do that for!" snarled Ethel, her immaculate hair escaping from its high ponytail, frizzing wildly from the effect of the intense heat radiating from the steaming cauldron, "You've ruined it!"

Drusilla pursed her lips and pointed tersely at Mildred and Maud's bench, "They've finished!" she whispered urgently, "And it's perfect!"

Ethel rolled up her sleeves, abandoning the congealing mess that was their potion, extinguishing their burner with an incensed swipe of her hand.

"Right," she hissed furiously, a dangerous aura building around her slight frame which was trembling with supressed hatred and rage, "This is for you Hubble Bubble!"

"_**Alverix orcus, transfrogamorphus,Compello placalo, Capitus Omitus, veritas eruptus!"**_

A jet of light hit Mildred and Maud's cauldron, causing it to shatter instantly with a loud blast of decaying metal, showering the class with scalding droplets of potion, inducing a deafening row of shrieks and screams, pandemonium breaking out as unattended cauldrons overflowed in a frothing lava of half-finished potions which flooded into each other, causing a volley of multi-coloured sparks to fly into the air, singing anything in their path of destruction as the volatile ingredients reacted aggressively, a storm of magical energy provoking the multiplying effects of the feared Fosters Effect as the intensity of the force grew.

"Mildred Hubble!" came the familiar shriek from the front of the class as Miss Hardbroom banished the excess magic with a powerful spell. "What on earth did you do?"

Mildred looked up into the face of the potions mistress which was hardened with anger, her beautiful features distorted into a twisted mass of hatred, livid sparks of fury were dancing in her eyes as she surveyed her troublesome student, the usual quiet iciness of her controlled distain was noticeably absent as a manic tic was dancing and fluttering in the side of her swan-like neck, a perfect vision of apoplectic rage.

"You useless, inept creature!" she screamed, her long hair escaping in wild tendrils, as she slammed the heels of her bony hands into the surface of the desk in complete frustration, before dematerialising and reappearing immediately behind the trembling student and venting her uncontrollable spleen into her ear, a vile stream of poisonous insults and invectives which seeped slowly into Mildred's conscience, razing the dying remnants of her new-found poise into a smoking mass on the ground, allowing the constricting weeds of self-doubt and insecurity to once again take hold of her faltering mind.

"What does it take for you to master a potion correctly you stupid child? You've been nothing but trouble since the fated day of your arrival in this establishment, always winning favour with the headmistress, always flaunting the rules, never showing single ounce of magical ability, not an iota of any academic prowess, yet still clinging onto your scholarship with your fingernails after scraping B's in soft subjects like myths and legends in your first year exams!"

She leant closer, her warm breath tickling the back of Mildred's neck, causing goosebumps to rise on the pale skin as she delivered her final message of condemnation in a low, menacing growl.

"I tell you now Mildred Hubble, that a witch as severely unskilled as you will never pass your exams, you have no future left in front of you, you imbecilic, senseless, incompetent, infuriating, loathsome girl!"

Mildred blinked away the hot tears that were rising behind her eyes, wincing as the blazing droplets coursed down her flushed face, burning channels of guilt and shame into her cheeks. She felt as if she were a spectator to the series of events that began to unfold, watching on helplessly as she couldn't do anything to stem the damning flow of adjectives that were flowing from the mouth of her potions teacher, but unable to resist effects of the truth potion in her system which was raging at the injustices being committed, forcing her mouth to form words of protest, proving her with the rare determination to argue for justice, to prove that she was blameless in the entire situation.

Mildred stood up and planted her trembling fingers on her narrow hips in an expression of defiance and stared back unflinchingly into the intense hazel eyes.

"I did not make a mistake Miss Hardbroom!" her quiet, level tones rang out clearly, "I made my potion correctly, and I am far from being the imbecilic witch that you described me as so unfairly"

The doppelganger stared back at the insubordinate pupil in disbelief, boiling and uncontrollable wrath erupting within her as she seized the girl by the arm, her sharp nails piercing the pale flesh as she dragged the protesting girl to the door, drawing ruby blood in little droplets from the puncture wounds which ran in scorching dribbles down the cold limb, the dark traces drying into a dark crust upon the milky skin.

"Out!" she spat venomously, shoving her loathed pupil roughly across the threshold, barely able to form the words of punishment as her bony chest was heaving with indignation, "You will go to your room and write 5000 lines of "I will not question the authority of my superiors" and I shall deal with you later!" she slammed with door with all her might, shattering the thin layer of glass in the pane, resting her rigid back against the door and exhaling sharply as she tried to wrestle back some composure from the decaying levels of self-control that she now possessed.

The effects of the class being showered in Mildred's potion were now coming to light. A wave of indignation was breaking out in ripples of discontent across the sea of faces, an outraged outbreak of remonstration sweeping across the room as pupils found their voices and got obstinately to their feet, a buzzing wall of noise throbbing inside the ears of the reflection, shredding her fragile resolve as the united crowd sought the truth.

"It wasn't Mildred, Miss Hardbroom," Jadu Wali spoke up confidently, looking the formidable potions teacher directly in the eye, "She had finished the potion and was testing it when the cauldron exploded!"

"It's true Miss," added Harriet Goodcharm, "Mildred was finished by then!"

"It was Ethel!" Drusilla earned herself a furious look from her friend which caused her to clap her hand over her disloyal mouth as the truth spilled out from between her treacherous lips, "She placed a curse on the cauldron!"

"It wasn't fair of you to say that, Miss Hardbroom!" declared Ruby Cherrytree, with an aghast look on her face at the bravery of the words emanating independently from her mouth, knowing full well that it was suicidal to risk incurring the famous wrath of the powerful witch, "Mildred has been trying really hard recently!"

By then the entire class was in raucous uproar, only to be silenced by the incensed bellowing of Constance Hardbroom, a mighty wall of sound which threatened to shatter the glass in the leaded window panes such was the destructive force of the frequency.

"Out! All of you report to Miss Cackle's office immediately!"

"But Miss-"

"OUT!" The twin banished the class to the growing queue outside Amelia's office with a blast of red sparks before slumping against a desk for support, cradling her throbbing head in her hands, allowing the intense anger to dissipate in the surroundings, to die away and allow calm to restore itself before dematerialising to the privacy of her room and the welcoming silence.

xxx

"Next!" Amelia's weary tones echoed through the lofty acoustics as she peered around the oak door into her office, gently assuring herself that she must be nearing the end of the queue by now, and then gaping at the extensive line of students which snaked in an unbroken lines around the corner, past the potions lab and back into the inner court, a teeming mass of girls who had somehow managed to simultaneously misbehave and had been sent to her for reprimanding. It was all very well the members of staff sending disruptive and unruly pupils to her, but her aged hand was tender from filling in the multitude of forms, a dull ache stabbing across the back of her fingers, a constant reminder of the sheer number of girls which she had already seen and gleaned the same information from. It looked as if Constance's behavioural changes were being reflected in her teaching. She had so far sent over thirty five students to see her in the course of three hours, each reporting the same bizarre sequences of events, a manic, screaming, uncontrolled, banshee-like figure who had long since departed from the calm, controlled logical approach favoured by the deputy head, the usually highly disciplined witch transforming into a terrifying, unpredictable, vindictive dictator who had swooped mercilessly like a vulture of doom upon a carcass, pecking away heartlessly at the slightest of personal flaws, showing no understanding or empathy to stem the flow of ferociousness in her attack, having torn various girls to shreds with her vicious verbal tirades, reducing Sybil Hallow to a hysterical wreck who had spent well over two hours sobbing in the corner of the office, unable to even repeat a single word of the damning summary of her apparently flawed character to Amelia, despite the gentle encouragement and comforting hug supplied by the kindly headmistress.

xxx

Imogen Drill stood shivering in the centre of the deserted courtyard, wrapping her royal-blue fleece tightly around her frozen body, consulting her watch with an increasingly perplexed frown growing on her unlined, tanned face, the blustering breeze gently ruffling her short, blond, spiky hair. The girls were never this late for PE- admittedly they were usually very begrudging to take part in a cross-country run and would protest heartily, but at least they showed up to the class, despite none of them showing a particular interest in or prowess for running of any sort. She sighed impatiently and marched inside to the welcoming warmth of the staffroom to consult her timetable, certain that she hadn't mistaken the time of the lesson.

A similar scene greeted Davina Bat as she waited impatiently in the Great Hall to rehearse the school choir, twisting her conducting baton nervously in her frizzy hair-which resembled a bird's nest at the best of times- until it became stuck fast in a firm knot which she had to release with a shower of sparks from her outstretched hand. She was anxious to begin rehearsals for the new anthem which she had composed to mark Amelia's birthday, determined that the bold, rousing harmonies and inspiring, meaningful lyrics would even outstrip last year's memorable performance with its additional, impromptu broomstick tableau display.

Xxx

As the bell in the clock tower struck six o'clock in its monotone peal, the heavy wooden door to the staffroom opened slowly with a faint creak from the rusted hinges announcing the arrival of an exhausted Amelia Cackle, who shuffled slowly to the welcoming comfort of the patched and faded armchair which sat next to the warmth of the log stove, sinking into the soft cushions with a faint sigh of relief at the knowledge that the demands of the day had finally ceased. She removed her angular, horn-rimmed glasses and gently massaged her aching temples with her cool fingertips, casting a silent remedial spell in a bid to remove the raging headache which was battling beneath her fingers, a storm of conflicting emotions and thoughts trapped in a whirling vortex of confusion and concern over her treasured Constance.

Davina said nothing but walked over to the slumped figure of the headmistress and presented her with a steaming willow-patterned cup of tea, laced with restorative sugar syrup which appealed to the sweet tooth of the elderly witch, each sip restoring a little vitality to her defeated spirit, a faint glow returning to her haggard complexion.

"It's been a long day…" she muttered quietly, in response to the questioning looks from her fellow colleagues, setting the now empty cup back into the saucer with a faint clink, "A very long day…"

"What on earth happened to all the girls this afternoon?" enquired Imogen as she began to lay the table for the evening meal, carefully spreading the sunshine yellow table cloth across the wooden table and arranging placemats and cutlery accordingly, placing a large vase of freshly-picked pink and white flowers from Frank Blossom's greenhouse in the centre which Davina eyed wistfully, inching her hand closer to the inviting blooms before receiving a reproving look from Imogen which caused her to withdraw her hand rapidly, almost as if it had been burnt such was the angry intensity of the non-witch's gaze. "The third year never turned up for their cross-country run!" the slightly hurt inflection in her well-spoken voice reflected the genuine disappointment that she had felt when she had been unable to carry out her planned exercise programme.

"The school choir didn't come to their rehearsal either," said Davina sadly as she absentmindedly began to deflower the chrysanthemums, scooping the delectable petals into her mouth before Imogen could protest further, "and we were about to begin learning the Ballad of Overblow Castle, with orchestral accompaniment…"

Amelia sighed heavily, linking her aching fingers together and resting them upon her chest as she leaned back into the comforting safety of the armchair, "That is because, ladies," she explained jadedly, "The majority of the school spent the afternoon traipsing in and out of my office, courtesy of Constance Hardbroom…"

"You mean-?" started an incredulous Imogen.

"She has placed nearly the entire school in detention, after expecting me to deal with the supposed miscreants!" sighed an exasperated Amelia, the sudden movement of her head causing her glasses to slip from their unstable, lofty perch upon the top of her grey head of hair, crashing down unforgivingly onto the bony bridge of her nose, the world suddenly reappearing in focus, the troubled faces of her colleagues swimming into formation from the depths of the blurry world of hazy colours and shapes, "In addition to the fact that if the reports of the pupils are anything to go by, Constance appears to have been unable to maintain her composure in a class and has been unleashing a verbal war upon her classes, akin to the intensity of the outburst that she had this morning!"

Davina paled at the very memory of the encounter with the vindictive witch, it had taken Imogen all morning to coax her out of her beloved cupboard, resorting to copious amounts of fruit salad as a measure of bribery.

"But surely, Constance, she wouldn't?" she questioned in her quavering voice.

Amelia looked up at her with eyes that were brimming with salty tears, a stinging irritation causing the exposed flesh around the rims of her eyes to flush red-raw in startling contrast to the piercing blue of her irises, a look that pleaded for the understanding and patience of her fellow workers, a beseeching look of utter despair.

"Would she? Wouldn't she? I don't know anymore Davina; she's just slipping further and further away from me…"

She broke off as a constricting wave of emotion rose in her throat, brusquely cutting off any further words from forming as her body chose actions rather than words to amplify her crushed feelings, unleashing a steady stream of tears from her eyes which coursed down her face, silent, heartfelt sobs wracking her body in shockwaves of angst at the torment to which she was being exposed, a feeling of a mother whose child had been snatched away from her protective clutches, never to be returned, the feeling of mourning the loss of a cherished friend choking her as she realised quite how dependant she had become on the unshakable rock that was Constance Hardbroom, her sole source of calm, logical reasoning, the antithesis of the irrational ramblings of Davina, at the same time she was her best friend who helped to regulate and alleviate the madness at Cackles, maintaining respect and dignity at all times, but was not afraid to occasionally allow the faintest chink of her dry humour to escape, the rare sight of her beautiful, contented smile was enough to lighten Amelia's often heavy heart, the uncommon gesture untying the lead ballast that pulled her into the depths of despair, allowing her to float freely in the blue skies of contentment, safe in the knowledge that her valued companion was at peace with herself, albeit momentarily, a brief blaze of sunshine before the murky, static grey clouds formed once again over her troubled soul. But how long had it been since she had last seen that elusive smile, heard that rare chuckle? An eternity had stretched between the last instances and the present day, time acting not as a healer, but as an aggravator of the widening gulf between the two women. Could she have done more? Could she have pre-empted this? The flowing river of tears was acting as the solvent for the bitter mass of poisons in her heart, diluting their acidic contents and releasing the caustic substances before they ate any further into her corroding heart, weakening the all-consuming, gnawing guilt which was tearing away at her flesh with its razor sharp fangs, taunting her incessantly with the harrowing images of the ashen-faced, emaciated woman who was slowly losing her battle to cling onto sanity and peace, her trusted friend and ally.

Constance.

Amelia tried frantically to scrub the glistening tears from her wrinkled cheeks with the frayed cuff of her charcoal grey cardigan as she looked back helplessly at her fellow members of staff, slightly ashamed at being seen at her most vulnerable, usually it was her that gave the warm sympathy and care to others, provided the comforting embrace which began to heal the pain being felt, but this time the anguish was all hers, a tsunami of self-doubt and agonising worry shredding away at her insides.

"I'm s-so sorry," she sobbed, abandoning all pretences of composure as Davina placed a comforting arm around her shoulders, "but I just want her back…"

Imogen joined the shared embrace, the three women united in a shared wish.

"We all do..." she whispered quietly.


	3. Chapter 3

Mildred Hubble was hunched over the desk in her room, her eyes watering and straining to remain focused on the laborious list of lines, poorly lit by the single, guttering candle flame which was ever threatening to snuff out in the howling gale which was whipping beneath the gap at the bottom of her door, her hand aching as she began to form the four thousandth and ninety ninth line of the never-ending task, her autonomous hand tracing the familiar, "I will not question the authority of my superiors", the tendons in her hand screaming in protest at the monotonous ostinato movement as they guided the pen in the intricate blend of strokes and loops, the slow, deliberate formation of the letters which had by now lost any sense of meaning, reduced to pointless hieroglyphics of ink due to the amount of time her aching eyes had viewed the same, unchanging lines of text.

She knew it was late, the castle lay sleeping, silent save for the occasional creak of a floorboard and the constant, sharp scratching of her pen upon the paper, but her suspicions were confirmed at the sound of the clock striking eleven as she finally set down her pen after what seemed like hours of writing.

Tabby looked up at his mistress sleepily, a small yawn exposing his small, pink mouth as he stretched his claws before climbing wearily into her lap, snuggling against her contentedly. Mildred began to slowly ruffle his striped fur, tickling him lazily behind his ears, whispering quietly to him as usual, confiding her darkest fears and thoughts to her ever faithful familiar.

"What is up with her, Tabby?" she questioned thoughtfully, her racing thoughts turning once again to the formidable deputy head and her strange outburst.

The cat didn't answer but meowed sleepily in comforting reassurance, aware that his young mistress was in distress, reminding her gently of his presence, compelling her to continue.

"HB may hate me, but she's never been like this before.." mused Mildred, her slender fingers brushing over the healing scars in her arm, wincing slightly at the tender response in her skin, the marks still glaring an angry red, a faint swelling building around the deep welts in a protective layer as her body began to patiently begin the painstaking process of knitting the damaged flesh back together, replacing the torn skin with new material, patching up the injury so effectively. She sighed sadly. If only her shattered spirit was able to mend itself so effectively.

"No, actually I don't think she hates me Tabby, I think she just want the best for us all." She paused, to place a small kiss upon the drowsy head of her pet.

"I think she does care, in her own strict way…"

She remembered the warm glow of praise that had entered Constance's liquid hazel eyes at the pleasing sight of the hard-earned, elusive grade on the paper as it was handed back to her, a rare sparkle of approval which had danced with vitality as she carried out her passion which was teaching, educating the young minds of the future, proving that even the worst witch in the school was capable of academic achievement with a little self-application, feeling justified in her constant demand for perfection which had spurred the girl to her studies. Now the eyes were as dark as jet, displaying the pathway to a dark void in her soul, a vacuum of emotion or pity, looking out in a heartless, cold stare from her gaunt, pale face, a gaze which had bored holes in the burgeoning confidence of the young witch with the effortless efficiency of a diamond-tipped drill, bringing the fragile walls of constructed hope crashing down, shredding any remaining iotas of self-belief, removing any source of hope which had blossomed in the spirit of the girl...

"But tell me how Tabby, tell me how can she compliment my work, even go as far as to praise me and then say what she said this afternoon, even when I brewed the potion right!" she muttered confusedly, the familiar prickling of humiliated tears forming behind her pale blue eyes as she remembered the merciless tirade which had been snarled in her ear, the damning trail of words which each punctured a sharp wound in her slowly growing confidence, each utterance fuelling the constantly nagging self-doubt which had dogged every move she had made in her short life.

"Maybe she just hasn't been sleeping well, although I'm sure that she never does sleep, or an evil twin has taken over her place, like Agatha Cackle did, although I'm sure that she doesn't have any family, or maybe she's taken a potion which has had horrendous side-effects, a part of her research maybe?" she listed endless possibilities for the strange behaviour, absentmindedly twisting her plaited hair around her fingers, trying to fathom out a plausible explanation, giggling to herself as a particular mental image came to mind,

"Can you even begin to imagine two HB's, Tabby? Talk about double trouble! No fun or sneaking out of our rooms, no more sweet rations, treble potions classes, she'd probably have us up at the crack of dawn each day to collect herbs as well!"

She groaned inwardly at the ever present ramblings of her wild imagination, scolding herself, knowing full well that especially at this time of night she was only encouraging nightmares to take root in her teeming mind as her creative thoughts grew ever more bizarre and fanciful. Sometimes having an overactive imagination was more of a curse than a blessing, her flights of fancy often causing her to overstep the mark, bringing to mind the day when she had managed to drop a fire bucket of water over the deputy head- even in that scenario she had maintained her icy dignity when reprimanding her, although the rage trembling in her sarcastic tones suggested otherwise. These reminiscences brought to mind the occasion when Enid had magically transported her into the midst of the staffroom's afternoon tea in a bid to avoid the strenuous demands of Miss Drill's cross country course, resulting in a severely squashed cheesecake and a sharp dent to Mildred's chances of lasting the first year without being expelled. However, the reaction this afternoon defied all previous examples of her rage; the loss of control had been a terrifying experience as she could feel the magical energy pulsating around the slender frame of the powerful witch, sparks dancing around her fingertips as the swarm of blazing fury was building in its dramatic intensity as her levels of infuriation and rage peaked.

She bit her chapped lip in a combination of fear and trepidation, the faint metallic taste in her mouth telling her that she had drawn blood as she surveyed the now completed punishment, the damp ink now drying into the navy blue words, no longer glistening in the flickering light. HB always expected lines to be in the day that they were set, and unless she submitted them this evening, she knew that she could expect to be on the receiving end of yet another stinging stream of diatribe.

She placed Tabby gently upon the indent in her thin pillow, lifting the grey blanket over his sleeping form to ensure that he remained warm.

"Shhh," she soothed quietly, stroking his sleek fur, "be a good boy Tabby, I'll be back soon."

Her feline companion half-opened a bleary yellow eye in assent, his whiskers twitching as he returned to the comforting world of dreams where he was free to chase mice all day, and not be expected to master the art of perching precariously upon the uncomfortable bristles of a broomstick, despite the loving encouragement that Mildred lavished upon him in an attempt to instil some form of training into his brain.

Mildred wrapped her cloak around her in a bit to close out some of the chilling draft which was whistling around the castle, picked up the product of her evening's labour and padded quietly to the door, flinching as her bare feet made contact with the freezing stone floor.

She quietly lifted the latch on the door and tiptoed towards the stairs, determined to at least leave her lines on Miss Hardbroom's desk in order to prove that she had fulfilled her punishment, moving silently past the doors of her sleeping peers, nothing more than a dark shadow disappearing into the murky stillness of the night, wishing desperately that she had remembered her candle, feeling her heart beat faster in her chest as her paralysing dread of the dark crept over her causing a burst of white-hot fear to erupt in her chest, having to supress the urge to scream out loud at the sudden, unexpected feel of a soft, silky touch upon her bare skin as an invisible presence brushed past her exposed ankles. Gasping in fright she backed towards the comforting glow of the burning brazier which hung in the wrought-iron bracket on the wall, the flickering yellow light providing a safe haven from all creatures, real and imaginary which haunted the corridors of Cackle's at night. Mildred sighed in relief as the mystery attacker proved to be none other than a sleek, jet black cat who was now twining herself impatiently around Mildred's feet, her long tail swishing in anxiety as she tried to convey her subconscious message of unease to the trembling pupil, pawing repeatedly at the fraying hem of the grey nightshirt, her sharp claws causing a new thread to unravel and hang to the floor in a further state of dishevelled disrepair. A loud, exasperated yowl finally managed to attract the attention of the young witch who knelt gently and examined the slender black leather collar which was placed around the neck of the cat, bearing an inscribed silver tag with the feline's name written in neat, impeccably engraved italics.

_**Morgana**_

Mildred gulped nervously, even if HB wasn't in sight, her cat would be certain to reveal to the formidable teacher that a student was out of bed after lights out, but even the usually serenely composed Morgana was acting rather strangely, striding in ever decreasing circles on the stone floor, her claws clicking in a regular ostinato as she continued her worried pacing. Mildred made to step past her and continue to the stairs, but a sharp hiss and the breeze of a swiped claw narrowly missing her bare leg caused her to stop in her tracks and look down in curiosity at the antics of the determined cat.

"First your mistress and now you…" she muttered as she surveyed the cat, finally daring to reach out and ruffle the soft fur behind her pointed ears, causing the cat to arch her back in approval, nuzzling into the welcome touch, starved of human affection since the indescribable change in her beloved mistress.

"What's going on Morgana?" questioned Mildred softly, mildly pleased to find somebody else who was as baffled as to the extraordinary behaviour being exhibited as she was herself.

Morgana threw a meaningful look at the young witch, her dark yellow eyes narrowing in uncertainty as she detected the shared aura of confusion, deciding to offer the witch inescapable proof of the bizarre circumstances which had led to this confusing development. She turned on her heel, trotting daintily back along the corridor towards her mistresses chamber, pausing every couple of yards to check that her new friend was following her closely.

Mildred followed the cat in intrigue through the winding maze of twisting corridors to the far turret of the West wing of the castle, her gut instinct telling her to trust the intelligent creature to lead her to a resolution of her ceaseless questioning. She flinched in apprehension at the handwritten name upon the door which Morgana had paused in front of.

**Miss Constance Hardbroom**

Although it was inevitable that she should have expected the resourceful cat to lead her to this location, she couldn't help a slight thrill of dread from twisting in her stomach, squirming in trepidation as to what lay beyond the sturdy oak door, as if her stomach had been transfigured into a writhing pit of snakes. She cast a questioning look at her fellow inquisitor before daring to slowly turn the black, wrought-iron handle to the right, her breath catching in her terrified throat at the seemingly deafening noise made by the faint click of the gates in the lock opening and releasing the catch, the door inching slowly open to reveal a slight chink of the scene which was currently unfolding inside the private chambers of the deputy headmistress.

Xxx

Somewhere, hovering listlessly between life and death, suspended in a floating limbo inside the monochrome, colourless void, submerged within the gloomy world of shadows, Constance Hardbroom was fighting to maintain her weakening hold on survival, focusing on purely enduring the cursed existence for another excruciating second, the miniscule period of time stretching out in front of her like a century, the effort required to sustain existence for that single unit of time akin to an impassable mountain path, strewn with boulders and glaciers, littered with hazardous chasms which would all have to be overcome to simply draw another ragged breath to propel the dwindling atoms of oxygen to her faltering brain, the renewing gasp of air which ensured that her blood would continue to flow in a viscous stream through the many tributaries which were her closing veins for at least another hard-won beat of her stilling heart. Still she attempted to steel herself to avoid giving into the crushing sense of defeat, the act of conceding to her jailer becoming a forbidden thought, whenever the banned idea danced mockingly around her aching temples, it was pounced upon savagely and devoured immediately by her still rigidly intact morals, the strict guidelines which chastised her for showing even the slightest flicker of despair and weakness, still desperately attempting to stir her soul to fight the dark forces which had placed her inside this impregnable fortress, an abandoned captive shut away for eternity in the bleak, windowless cell of her own teeming mind, her once bright future slowly fading away to the black hue nothingness in front of her own disbelieving eyes. Even though the requirement to exist still persisted within her mind, the will to continue was bleeding from her dying spirit like a dark droplet of blood dispersing in crystal clear water, clouding the clear solution with its murky tinges as the lines between hopefulness and bitter acceptance blurred ever closer to each other, the welcoming embrace of death inching ever closer.

Losing her magic amidst the confusion of the act of incarceration had left her feeling as if part of her brain had been lobotomised; a missing connection, a metaphorical short circuit had formed since being drained of her powerful magic, an act which had left the previously omnipotent, commanding sorceress as weak and fragile as a new born lamb, staggering upon her disloyal legs which quaked beneath her, unable to even support her non-existent weight, for once experiencing the crippling feebleness of being nothing but a mere mortal, unable to rely upon the comforting glow of her powers, twined together inextricably since the moment of her birth, it was as if her conjoined twin had been wrenched away from her, leaving a yawning gulf in her psyche at the missing weight of her magic, the dancing, vibrant force being eradicated, shuddering as she recalled her lifeblood draining away from her in a glistening, golden haze, the cruellest of consequences to arise from the agonising moment in which her life had literally been turned upside down, wrenching her from her tortured existence into the hellish purgatory where she remained the captive of her malevolent reflection, forced to relive the painstaking anguish caused to all those who she loved at the hands of the demonic twin in graphic recollections, the anguish caused leading her to hammering the heels of her hands against the invisible walls of her mirrored cell in a violent, uncontrolled tattoo, seeking a desperate attempt to escape from within the enchanted world where she was condemned to spend her last moments on earth.

Every day was the same; today bore no diversion from the established routine. The sadistic sneer would spread slowly and deliberately across the bony face of her oppressor as she appeared within the viewing range of the enchanted looking glass, the maliciously sweet smile of her tormentor worn by her own, familiar features as she gazed deeply into the mirror, mocking her trapped double mercilessly with the horrendous tales of her newfound freedom, evidently deriving a twisted enjoyment from seeing the tears of loneliness and isolation burning in white-hot flames of humiliation behind the eyes of the trapped witch, the salty droplets being firmly refused exit from the overflowing wells of hurt which resided behind the blazing hazel eyes, each generated sob was ruthlessly choked back and swallowed painfully, the raw emotion scalding her tender oesophagus as it slid slowly back into her chest, leaving a stinging wake of shame and disgrace in its aggressive path.

The doppelganger leaned closer to the glass, her warm breath condensing into steamy clouds upon the freezing surface as she surveyed her captive twin, the caged lioness who could now not so much utter a mighty roar of defence, instead a pitiful howl of beseechment, replacing the proud snarl of the once mighty witch.

"_**Oh Constance, Constance…"**_ she breathed quietly as she surveyed the slumped form of her twin, _**"Surely your greatest wish was 'to be alone, to be devoted to nothing apart from your studies and your thoughts'"**_, the image leaned closer, a faint malevolent chuckle escaping merrily from between her thin lips, the melodious sound jarring harshly with the raging undertones of evil which seeped through it icily, _**"your words Constance, the very words which your eighteen year old self recorded in her diary upon her graduation from Witch Training College, the cold, logical outpourings from the broken shell of the fragile little girl whose heart had shattered into so many pieces in her short life from the devastating implications from the scenarios the cruel hand which fate had dealt her, wishing nothing but a solitary existence upon herself.."**_ the reflection paused, the glint of triumph dancing in her manic eyes, _**"An existence in which I was more than accustomed to living.." **_she whispered knowingly as she stared unblinkingly into the swirling ether of the mirror, watching on pitilessly as the stranded figure attempted to banish the ever thickening mists of loneliness which were caressing her milky skin like a dark, silken veil, familiar in their gentle, velvety touch as they curled tenderly around her frail frame. _**"But unlike you, I don't intend to squander my chance at freedom, at last able to escape from the confines of that cursed world, able to see the glorious colours of the world, see the glow of the setting sun, the green leaves on the trees, hear the birds singing in the trees, a sensory overload compared to that dark cell! And now it is your turn to experience that solitary, lonely existence, unable to communicate, frozen, a mere hologram forever bound to mimic the actions of the lucky twin that has the ability to roam free and untethered in the mortal world!"**_

A sly grin twitched at the corners of her thin mouth, taking exceptional delight in tormenting the woman who had for so long kept her submerged beneath the choking, smoky atmosphere of the mirror, now seizing her chance to escape with the arrival of the enchanted looking glass, able to finally defy the constricting laws of nature and step out bravely into the human world, represented in flesh, blood flowing in her veins, the intoxicating feel of magic dancing at her slender fingertips.

"_**Who would have thought that the mighty Constance Hardbroom would have been so utterly powerless without her beloved friends? The same little girl who famously once decreed that friends were 'a needless luxury, a collection of stupid, immature, self-centred oddities which were to be avoided at all costs'? Such an obnoxious little ten year old you were…"**_

"_**And now, that child still hides within your soul, a scared little girl still so, so afraid to allow the prying eyes access into the locked chambers of your past, not allowing a chink of light to be shed upon the cultivating weeds of self-doubt which were, in time, to grow up and throttle you in their determined grip, asphyxiated, unable to stagger any further whilst shouldering the heavy burden which you carry, insisting upon adding further to the interminable weight which already threatens to snap your brittle spine beneath its crushing mass, never allowing a single offer of help to be offered, rebuffing even the most persistent of potential friends. But then that glorious day when your oldest friend, the genial Amelia Cackle arrived unannounced in the midst of your pathetic life, the outpouring of hope and trust radiating from her was enough to prise away the rusted grating to your soul, slightly thawing the impenetrable sheet of ice which masked your shattered heart, that slight moment of weakness allowing the foolish notion of empathy to enter your aching head, delighted as you realised that you finally had the rarest of possessions, a **__**friend**__**."**_

The malice rose in the shadows voice as she took especial delight in unleashing the final piece of destroying information.

"_**But what if your sole friend and protector now believes you to have closed her out of your secretive little world for good, lowering the protective portcullis to your heart for eternity, your icy disdain excluding her gentle, loving warmth yet again? What if today your staunch ally had chosen to surrender her love and care in sheer disgust at the contempt that you have shown her in the course of the last week, her waning patience finally frayed to the finest of gossamer threads, the frail tolerance snapping beneath the strain of the bitter rebuke of her caring inquires, a harsh, scalding tirade emanating from the lips of her cherished friend, the angry storm of words swiftly parrying her concerned gestures of care, pushing her firmly away as you have to every other poor unfortunate in your life…"**_

Constance's blood ran as cold as a glacier as the dreaded realisation hit her with the unequalled force of a bolt of lightning, scorching her jarring nerves with a surge of burning despair, charring the blackened heart even further. Not Amelia? Not the gentle, motherly witch that had rescued her from the dark torment that she had been subjected to, the kind woman who had cared for her as if she had been a daughter of her own. Her lifeline and ceaseless supporter wrenched away from her, one of her last, clutched straws of hope slipping from between her numbing fingers.

"No…" she whispered hoarsely as her mind blankly refused to comprehend the information with which it was being bombarded relentlessly, "No, not Amelia, she'd never…"

"_**Oh, it is amazing how a few, well-chosen, damning words can erode the carefully laid foundations of trust, causing the unquestioning empathy which has existed for years to suddenly crumble and collapse into the dark ravine of uncertainty, the fragile constructions of friendship eradicated in midst of the devastating storm of anger projected towards your cherished companions, introducing the pathogen of mistrust which feeds upon the nagging doubts of uncertainty, the destructive force which took mere seconds to remove a life's work as the poison of fear and hatred gripped the mind of your dearest of friends tightly, removing the directive blinkers of trust from their eyes and exposing you in your true light as the treacherous, perfidious forgery which you are, destined to be despised by everyone who inhabits your precious little word…"**_

Constance was now biting back the tears of anger which were boiling over in a frothing stream behind her intense hazel eyes as she looked outwards at the looming, distorted image of the shadow, incensed with rage, her voice shaking with supressed fury.

"What did you do!" she snarled from between clenched teeth, determined to not allow the obvious hurt that she felt to escape, feeling her slipping hold on consciousness faltering through the sheer strain of conveying her fraught emotions, "Tell me!"

The sickly-sweet voice continued its blithe narration, the whisking undercurrent of hatred swirling rapidly beneath the words, mock concern grating unbearably upon the raw nerves of the imprisoned witch.

"_**Aren't you happy Constance? For the little girl has at last achieved her dearest wish- no more shall you be burdened with the trivial emotion of friendship, for you Constance, life is now-"**_

An incensed yowl pierced through the ominous mutterings, an ear-splitting, unearthly din which caused the concentrated chain of threats to break as the doppelganger wheeled around sharply, her eyes glinting dangerously as she sought the source of interruption.

Highlighted in her own spotlight of moonlight on the stone floor in a defiant stance stood the ever loyal Morgana, hackled raised, spitting in wrath at the degrading treatment of her beloved mistress, her yellow eyes blazing in cold fury as she determinedly stood her ground.

"_**Well, well, what have we here?" **_the icy tones questioned as the reflection paced slowly towards the protective feline who growled in warning at the approaching menace. Moments later a shrill scream rang out as the cat sprang forward athletically and sunk her razor-sharp teeth into the ankle of the foreign body in front of her, pouncing upon her unwitting prey, easily drawing blood from the open wound, little flecks of ruby –red blood dribbling freely down the pale flesh, an act of bravery that almost provoked a cheer from the incarcerated Constance, watching on remotely as a blaze of pride erupted in her chest as her feline companion leapt to her aid.

"_**Come here you little…" **_ a descending, bony hand swept rapidly towards the triumphant cat, smacking her hard across her arched back, knocking the animal sideways with the malicious force behind the blow, before seizing her roughly by the scruff of her protesting neck, holding her up to eye level.

"_**I don't seem to remember allowing you in my chambers? You sleep in the staffroom you wretched animal!" **_her voice was ominously quiet as she marched to the door which stood wide open, the chilling breeze whistling mercilessly around the room, determined to return the cat to its rightful abode, her heeled leather boots clicking rhythmically away down the corridor, fading out of earshot as Mildred Hubble let out the breath which she had been holding to the point where she was in danger of fainting from lack of oxygen, her mind reeling at what she had just witnessed. Peeping through the narrow crack in the door, she had witnessed and heard everything that had spilled from the poisonous mouth of the twin HB, had even seen a faint, shadowy figure drowning in the storm of static, hammering on the glass with her fists in a desperate, frail attempt to escape. She slid out from behind the stone column and tiptoed into the forbidden chamber, determined to satisfy her raging curiosity, desperate to prove to herself that she hadn't dreamt the entire scenario and wasn't tucked up safely in her warm bed at this precise moment.

A beautiful, full-length mirror decorated with elegant, delicate finials and scrolls of wound silver was reclined at a precise angle in the far corner of the room, its sweeping surface deflecting the broad beam of shimmering moonlight which was pouring freely into the high turret, casting its ghostly aura in a projected spotlight across the icy stone floor, lighting the path to salvation for Constance in an ethereal glow as Mildred slowly approached the wondrous piece of art, her heart suddenly fluttering like a caged bird in the midst of her chest, palpitations of fear and anticipation trembling violently in her core as she sensed the overwhelmingly powerful, evil magic which was contained within the antique glass. A haunted face stared back at her in disbelief, fully submerged below the icy waters of isolation, floating gently beneath the arctic depths like a drowning corpse; the sunken, gaunt features of Constance Hardbroom shimmered dimly beneath the distorted grey haze, surprise and shock present in abundance in her rippling features, the forbidden tears of relief welling rapidly in her dark eyes as she surveyed the young witch who now represented her last, fading chances of survival. How cruelly apt that the unfortunate girl whom she had chastised and harshly rebuked many times in her short time at the academy should be the only one to see past the projected façade of her reflection and seek the truth which lay buried in the swirling depths of the mirror.

Wordlessly, Mildred stretched out her shaking hand until it was palm to palm with the wraithlike hand of Constance, a shiver of relief passing through her as she saw the reciprocation of the simple gesture, having momentarily feared the worst after seeing the fixed, unblinking eyes of the living carcass staring unrelentingly back at her, an unbearable mixture of tortured sorrow and grief ever-present in the wistful gaze of the incarcerated woman, a look of such moving intensity that it would forever remain etched irascibly into the memory of the young girl, a look of such concentrated sadness that it would haunt her until her dying day.

"Miss Hardbroom?..." she whispered quietly, almost in reverential awe at the sight of the wretched woman in front of her, a gentle stream of reassurance falling unchecked from her quivering lips as her ungrudging heart allowed the release of the choking wave of pity which had risen in her throat at the pitiful sight of the mighty sorceress who was fading slowly into non-existence in front of her very eyes.

"It's going to be alright, I've found you…" she breathed, blinking back the tears which were threatening to escape from her aching eyes, unable to comprehend the strange outpouring of emotion towards the feared potions mistress, her naturally caring nature overriding the usual instinct to avoid the strict woman at all costs, feeling a protective surge rising in her veins as she soothed the troubled witch, gently stroking the reflected hand, wishing that she could reach through the enchanted glass and offer a warm embrace of hope.

The hazel eyes stared back at her, desperately trying to convey the inaudible message of gratitude, the assumed layers of icy disdain falling away to finally reveal the scared, wide-eyes of a woman frightened beyond measure as she stared the beckoning cold embrace of death in the face, in the full possession of the knowledge of the inescapable truth that her time on earth was running short, the golden sands accelerating through the hourglass of existence as the mirror increased its ever-strengthening hold upon her heavy heart, pulling her ever closer to the teetering brink of fatality.

"I won't forget, I promise you with all my heart that I shall come back and set you free, just please hold on, hold on for me, for Miss Cackle, for all those who you love, and I promise that I shall find a way to set you free, just don't give up, not now…" an urgent plea came from Mildred, her voice cracking with the strain of supressed emotion as she stared into the mirror in anguish at the sight of the weakening form in front of her, powerless to intervene and divert the direction of the doomed course which fate was determinedly steering.

"Just tell me what I have to do…" she choked as the angry river of boiling tears erupted and streamed unrelentingly down her pale cheeks, unable to bear the sight of the life flowing out of the immobile body in front of her.

"Please…" she begged hoarsely, gently stroking the glass in a bid to make her presence felt, desperately seeking advice from her respected tutor.

Summoning all of her remaining energy, Constance closed her eyes, clenching them shut tightly in order to detract from the overriding sensation of the crushing pain which rose immediately in her screaming limbs following the act of raising her arm to shoulder height to point at the rows of immaculate bookshelves which decorated the sparse wall behind Mildred. The simple act draining her of all her existing reserves, felling her like a tree as she slumped forwards into a comatose state of inertia, her mane of ebony hair falling in loose tendrils over her face.

Mildred turned her attention to the mass of neatly sorted books, a dizzying array of titles involving complex, advanced potions and learned, magical tomes, each presented neatly within its black binding, arranged in perfect, alphabetical symmetry, a meticulous presentation of order and method. Except for one. Tucked into the dusty corner of the very lowest shelf, almost hidden behind the stone alcove sat a faded volume bound in cracking brown leather, conspicuous in its shabby appearance. Intrigued, Mildred slid the book from its protective hiding place and stared at the contents in amazement. Buried amongst the learned tomes was hidden an evidently cherished book of children's fairytales, a subject that she simply couldn't imagine the prim and serious potions mistress showing any interest in what so ever. She carefully turned the well-thumbed pages, gasping in awe at the beautiful colour plates which brought the fantasy contents to life in startling clarity, all of the creatures and characters of her childhood waving back to her in welcoming familiarity, the return of long-lost friends from the dark void of her memory. She stopped and paused at a particularly well-read page, its delicate ivory coloured paper cracking and fading from the acidic touch of human hands over a prolonged period of time, the once crisp black writing now faded to a sun-damaged brown, dried little wisps of grass trapped between the leaves and spine, indicating that the beloved book had been carried lovingly to all locations by the owner, the sprawling, carefree, childish script in the front of the book proudly declaring that the book was indeed the property of one "Connie Hardbroom". Mildred began to read at the selected story; the tale of the Snow Queen staring back at her, the beautiful drawing portraying the tall, mysteriously elegant woman wrapped in her flowing white fur cape, the beauty and warmth of her deceptively inviting smile not extending to her cruel eyes, the startling blue of her eyes standing out in stark contrast to her snowy white skin and attire, two sapphires of gleaming clarity sparkling amongst the pale features as she beckoned to the unsuspecting child, preparing to enslave him. Mildred's reeling mind began to piece together the rapidly forming coincidences, a completed jigsaw of events and notions forming in front of her disbelieving eyes, the missing ideas piecing together at a blinding speed, little cognitive flashes blistering into existence inside her brain, reassembling the forgotten, faded details as she proceeded to familiarise herself once more with another childhood memory. A shard of glass from a demonic mirror? The sudden, icy change in a person's behaviour? The hurt and anguished caused by their actions to their loved ones? The abduction of the hero by an evil Ice Maiden? The stream of connections kept on hitting her relentlessly as the missing piece of logic slotted neatly into the previously unsolvable riddle, finally painting the final picture of the conundrum that faced her.

All that remained was the saviour to come forth to rescue the heroine of the story, the only person who could reach them from inside their emotionless, sound-proof world. She knew that fate had determined that she was the one to rescue Constance, and the very thought struck both terror and apprehension into her thudding heart. Desperately, she leafed through the aged volume in a bid to find an enchantment to aid her in her difficult mission, but the words that she had just read were echoing uneasily inside her perplexed mind.

"I can give her no greater power than she already has," whispered the old woman, "don't you see how strong she is? How men and animals are obliged to serve her, and how well she has got through the harsh world, barefooted as she it? She cannot receive any power from me greater than she already has in the purity and innocence of her young heart. If she cannot succeed in her mission, we can do nothing to help her…"


	4. Chapter 4

The echoing sound of heeled boots tapping precisely on the stone floor of the passage sent a shockwave of fear jolting through her fluttering heart, adrenaline flooding into her veins, the ancient reflexes of self-preservation coming into play as she ducked quickly to her knees, desperately combing the room with her grey-blue eyes for a place of hiding, a sanctuary to protect her from the satanic reflection who would surely kill her first and worry about the consequences later. The only area which promised the welcoming aura of a dark, unassuming place of safety was the cramped space beneath the wrought iron double bed which rose just far enough off the floor to allow the clearance of the trembling body of the young witch. She clasped the treasured book to her thin, heaving chest, her racing mind praying that the deafening sound of her heart thudding against her ribs and the noisy amplification of her blood pounding in her ears, attempting to reach her frantic brain would not betray her, a metaphorical whiff of scent to the pursuing nose of the huntress who would be stalking her every move, determined to track her down. She attempted to restore some regularity to her constricted breathing, praying that the book in front of her would provide some assistance in helping her to escape from this nightmarish situation, flicking through the ancient pages with renewed purpose, carefully separating the elderly pages one by one to avoid the tell-tale flutter of pages turning. "There has to be something…" she muttered feverishly, squinting in the appalling half-light at the myriad of supposed enchantments which for all she knew could have merely been the product of the mind of a bored writer, but she had to believe in their validity, to trust in their support, as it was this belief that would be the only force capable of allowing both her and Constance to escape from the hellish scenario.

The persistent ostinato of footsteps rose in a crescendo as the feared twin grew ever closer, the rhythmic din echoing within the enclosed space as she swept back to continue the merciless taunting of her detested double. The brisk footfalls halted momentarily as the door handle turned, the creak of hinges announcing the arrival of the demonic doppelgänger as she stormed into the room, her icy composure remaining firmly intact as she strode purposefully towards the mirror, a jet of red sparks glancing against its smooth surface, jolting the exhausted form of Constance Hardbroom back into a semi-consciousness, the incessant, malevolent tones grating wearingly once more against her diminishing self-control.

"_**Well, at least that feral animal will not disturb us any further, Constance…" **_she smirked triumphantly in the knowledge of the disposal of the unwanted intruder. Covered in cuts and bleeding gashes, Morgana was now cowering in the darkest corner of the staffroom, licking her multiple wounds that she had received in the course of duty that was defending her rightful mistress, the satisfying taste of the blood of that evil creature still lurking on her taste buds in a sweet reminder of her small victory over the hated intruder.

"_**At least you have managed to instil your doctrine into the brain of some dim-witted creature, although the general consensus seems to lean towards the latter given the woeful basic knowledge of your students, the majority of which can't even brew a simple potion without risking life and limb!**_

The shadowy form of Constance flinched at the criticism of her beloved students, anger flaring within her once more as she fought to cling onto consciousness once more.

"_**Always playing the controlled, rigid leadership figure when you fail to inspire the slightest amount of respect from your students, mocked, held up as a figure of ridicule for your pathetic attempts at installing discipline and knowledge into the empty, vacant heads of the backward students which fall under your woeful care. The fact crushing in its harsh simplicity is that the woman who presents herself as the faultless, impeccable Constance Hardbroom has failed as much in her disastrous attempts at teaching as in her pathetic, weak, self-absorbed approach to her pitiful existence! You-"**_

She broke off in a shriek of surprise and agony as a blinding jet of golden light hit her squarely between her narrow shoulder blades, shaking her to the core with the intensity of the magic which jolted through her. She wheeled around to face the enemy, casting fingers already summoning a deadly spell as she acted upon pure instinct.

Mildred Hubble had lain beneath the bed in the protective cocoon of darkness, feeling the inhuman surge of anger building within her, screaming for an outlet, the rage soaring like the mercury in a thermometer, the needle of fury shooting toward the top of the scale of human tolerance, demanding an immediate release, the further rush of adrenaline to her already teeming mind causing her to abandon her previous self-doubt and caution and to attempt the highly complicated spell that she had spent the past five minutes deliberating over the use of, her protective nature springing to the aid of her stricken tutor without the first notion of doubt or self-preservation, an untamed outflowing of the purest of magic bursting forth from her untainted soul.

"**Immalatus Excabatus, mentat corpus, hibiscus liberatus. Veni specculus, praecantatio reversus!" **she screamed, scrambling out from beneath the bed as the final stinging insult slipped from between the lips of the evil reflection, the golden arc of light striking her nemesis in the back, not allowing her the luxury of the first blow, a direct shot designed to eradicate the poisonous foe for good.

The reflection paused, a menacing smile playing around her lips as she surveyed the sprawled form of Mildred Hubble, the unruly hair escaping wildly from the unwinding plaits, a look of fierce intensity radiating from within her azure eyes, her chest heaving with emotion as she lay prone on the stone floor, praying that the incantation would take effect and rid the world of the evil which was now laughing hysterically at the supposedly ineffectual attempt that had merely glanced off her alabaster skin, a sadistic mirth erupting within her at the mere thought of the incapable student being able to banish her from her increasing hold upon mortal existence. She raised her slender hand, preparing for one last deadly curse.

"_**You're going to regret this day, Mildred Hubble!"**_ she snarled as she drew back her arm to deliver the lethal blow.

Mildred shut her eyes, praying silently for the pain to be over quickly, at least dying in the knowledge that she had tried to bring about the resolution, bravely waiting for the eventual descent into nothingness. Instead, she heard an unearthly scream of pain and frustration as her fairytale curse finally took effect.

A sickening crack filled the room as the fragile façade of life began to decay, little hairline cracks slowly appearing in the skin and dress of the reflection, accelerating rapidly as they travelled the length of the deteriorating image as it began to shatter like a sheet of glass being struck by a sledge-hammer, falling to the ground in a rainbow of shards, a blinding white light ferociously punching gaping holes in the waning form as the appropriated magic sought to return to its rightful owner, draining away the final reserves of life from the inanimate shadow as it dissolved into a final burst of light, destroyed completely by the removal of the crutch which was the powerful magic, the anchor being raised, leaving her helpless at the hands of the devastating forces of nature that crushed it's pathetic, floundering form beneath their mighty weight.

Blinking slowly in shock at the sight of the carnage that had unfolded in the wake of her deadly spell, Mildred stretched out her trembling, cupped hands to the floating orb of white light, the pure magic which had been stolen from Constance when she had been incarcerated in the mirror, the magical core which made her one of the most powerful sorceresses of her generation, the raw, ancient power which was centred amidst her very soul, the very essence of a witch which now sat reluctantly in the outstretched hands of Mildred Hubble, fighting initially to return to its owner, before relenting that the only feasible method of reinstatement relied solely upon the merits of the young girl, sinking slowly into her skin, allowing itself to be absorbed into the epicentre of the girl, strengthening her with the intoxicating glow of the untainted extract of pure magic.

Words could not describe the omnipotent power which Mildred felt slowly filtering through her body, an incredible force of ancient command which seized the constricting rules of nature and forced them to bend to her mighty will, the indefatigable magic radiating from her in a visible glow, the golden spark of increased vitality saturating everything within her in its expansive wake, bathing her in the monumental potency of the supreme existence. Rising majestically to her steady feet, she strode assertively towards the awaiting mirror, unerringly confident in the indescribable knowledge that albeit temporarily, she was the most powerful sorceress in the world. The combined force of her own developing magic fused with the unbelievably strong powers of Constance buoying her towards the path of rescue, experiencing an feeling akin to walking on air, having to physically check to see if her freezing feet were indeed still in contact with the stony ground despite what her soaring senses were informing her, so intense was the power that she was containing within her young body.

She stopped millimetres away from the icy glass, a new resolve pounding within her heart as she fixed the fading spectre with an assured gaze willing for her to cling on to existence for the few short moments that it would take her to finally reach her.

"I promised I would come back for you…" she breathed, the words of unswerving loyalty hanging bravely in the silent air as she stared unblinkingly at the wretched figure, her voice wavering slightly with renewed hope as she wordlessly pressed her small palms to the still surface of the mirror, the formidable magic within her transforming the mill-pond like surface into a rippling, fluid entity, the stagnant waters of reality parting once more to allow her access to the satanic world of the shadows, the intrepid rescuer finally coming to the aid of the stricken witch, diving through the flowing, icy waters, snatching a last gasp of vital oxygen before the shock of the impact drove the air from her body as she sank into the black depths between the dimensions, determined to pull the drowning corpse to the surface.

The arctic lake of ether swirled around her slender form, dragging her unopposed beneath the decaying mire of time, pulling her into the murkiest depths of existence where she knew the dwindling band of existence was where Constance would be trapped, teetering on the edge of the dark void of death. Plummeting through the frozen wastelands, she steeled herself for the awaiting task, knowing full well that even the colossal focus of magic within her may not be enough to return them safely to the surface, knowing that the utmost faith and concentration were to be required at all times. Finally, she reached the diminishing physique of Constance Hardbroom.

A sweeping wave of pity crashed within her at the sight of the hunched, crippled, shaking wreck, who was curled up in a foetal position, wasting away to nothingness in the dark hell, now completely devoid of her humanity, condemned to spend her last fated hours in the stifling atmosphere of the suffocating hell. Two hazel eyes, stared back at her from within the skeletal form, the standing out from the emaciated face, the delicate bones in danger of bursting through the ashen skin which was pulled taut to the point of incredibility, the faint, delayed movements of her eyes the only sign of life that was flickering within the midst of her deathly pallor, unable to trust what her distorted senses were telling her, incapable of comprehending the joyous thought that her somewhat unlikely rescuer had finally arrived, the powerful enchantments overcome, the gateway broken down in the determined wake of her saviour, the ever loyal, ever trusting Mildred Hubble.

Mildred felt the magic within her straining to return to its rightful owner, a tug on the figurative leash, demanding a successful homecoming as she edged ever closer to the pitiful, huddled skeleton, reaching out slowly and placing her hands gently upon the sagging shoulders of the once mighty witch, the cold hands feeling like boiling lava springs to the numb flesh of Constance as Mildred unleashed the imposing flow of magic from within her, the healing outflowing of power soothing the excruciating pain, numbing it tenderly, allowing Constance to summon the iota of strength required to raise her trembling face to look in wonder at her saviour, the warmth of the power spreading slowly through her frozen veins, unfreezing the garnet, clotted blood, restoring the steady flow of oxygen, a faint pink flush of vitality every growing upon her gaunt complexion as the magic continued to breathe life back into her failing body, the dying cells rejuvenating, the unrelenting, encompassing fog which had covered her failing senses for the time of her incarceration now slowly lifting to reveal the sharp light of day which was filtering back into her psyche, health beginning to slowly redawn upon her frail torso, a new genesis , a new birth as she began the slow fight to escape from the constrictive prison like a new-born chick fighting to chisel its long way through the captive, concrete shell of its egg, each shred of unutilised energy being directed towards the eternal struggle for escape. Mildred could feel the golden light of the magic flowing through her outstretched hands into the emaciated flesh of the disintegrating woman, a feeling of joy and elation passing through her as the life-blood began to flow back into the captive witch, breaking her iron shackles and setting her free from her imprisonment, reuniting her with her trusted ally which had fought at her side for all of her troubled life as the power slowly began to reabsorb into the depths of her very soul, beginning to patch the gaping wounds of emptiness, the torn, purulent flesh beginning to knit together once more as the invincible force returned firmly to its mistress.

Finally their eyes met in a shared glance of understanding, emotional intensity radiating between them in a sheen of charged feelings, relief, trust, anxiety and fear shared in a haze of silent questions as blue met on brown. Constance began to feel the missing strength returning to her like a hibernating animal awakening from its long winter slumber, released from her comatose confinement, however, still weak through lack of nourishment, she clutched tightly onto the supportive arm of her student, wincing sharply, drawing her breath in between her gritted teeth in a defiant display of courage, drawing upon her last reserves as she clawed her way to standing, albeit very unsteadily upon her violently shuddering legs, gasping with the sheer effort of maintaining the simple stance without allowing her screaming, protesting muscles to slacken, and fall down in a limp heap like a rag doll. Observing the fragile state that Constance was in, Mildred effortlessly looped her arm around the microscopic waist, pulling the waif-like body towards her in a supportive embrace, cradling the wasted body to her tightly, her subconscious decreeing that almost as if by decreasing the distance between them, she would be able to transmit some of her own strength and determination into the flagging sinews and muscles of her deputy head, a simple act of comfort and reassurance which gave the winded enchantress a moment of peace in which to draw breath as she faced the draining ascent ahead of her.

"Give me your hands," whispered Mildred urgently, gently interlocking her fingers of each hand with the long, slender, brittle digits of her counterpart, binding them ever closer, sealing a wordless pact in order to be able to project the pure magic which would enable them to rise slowly to the gateway between the two worlds. "You know what we have to do?" she questioned quietly, not allowing worry to permeate her hushed tones, to which Constance slowly inclined her head in assent, summoning what was re-established of her inexhaustible powers. Tiny sparks of supressed magic danced in a bright, rhythmic pirouette between the braced fingers as the two witches began to murmur beneath their breath, a shared enchantment of commitment and trust, an ancient chant unknown to any mortal witch, which flowed effortlessly from their synchronised lips, a spell which was channelled from the heart, an enchantment that was not contained in any but the most perfect spell-book itself, the human soul, unleashed in only the most desperate of hours, the moments when a witch is closest to the valley of death.

"_**Veni,Veni, tempestatus liberates, compaginellus vitunes, esas neler et tinus urquate prestoris!"**_

A delicate chain of golden sparks began to unfold from between the interlinked, delicate fingers, binding the two witches irreversibly together as the radiant magic unfurled into the glistening strands of hope which decorated the hellish surroundings in a cheery glow which jarred with the heavy, chillingly sombre atmosphere, the eternal lightness emanating freely from the purest of magic, the intense force battling and savagely destroying the dark trappings of despair that obstructed its cleaving pathway, a spiral of celestial light bathing the two witches in its protective beam as they slowly rose, unchallenged through the murky world of shadows, nearly breaking through the solid barrier between the dimensions before the flickering light guttered wildly, casting a wild stream of wavering shadows, before dying completely as the weakened Constance once again lost her battle to remain conscious, fighting desperately to maintain her rigid focus as the world swam in front of her exhausted eyes, splitting into whirling fractions of colour and sound, unable to defend herself against the stealthy feeling of spent exhaustion which was crawling menacingly beneath her milky skin, like an invading swarm of ants injecting their irritant toxins deep into the flesh, the unbearable itch of sleep building behind her brow, forcing her eyes to bow shut, powerless to resist, she relented once more and allowed the blackness to envelope and swallow her once more, drowning yet again beneath its suffocating cushion of painless surrender.

For the first time in recent memory, the protective dam of courage in Mildred's heart faltered at the feeling of the draining of the united power, the resolute, steady progress being halted by the collapse of the sickly potions mistress, the sheer effort of survival proving to be a more demanding challenge than previously anticipated. She carefully cradled the unconscious form closely to her, nestling the mass of skin and bones into the warm contours of her flesh, trying to preserve the fading life-force within the afflicted woman whilst feverishly plotting her next move. It was all down to her now.

With an almighty effort which felt as if she were swimming solely against the overwhelming, combined forces of the overbearing tides of the five oceans, she determinedly continued the draining ascent, like a diver rescuing a priceless treasure from the seabed, she kicked hard, drawing harshly upon her emotional and magical reserves, determined to land her precious cargo safely upon dry land. At last they stood face to face with the unyielding wall of glass, the invisible barrier which trapped them mercilessly inside the shadowy underworld, prisoners condemned to face the fate of time should they not be able to forge an escape.

Breathing calmly, Mildred began to assess the situation, seeking the key to escape, the missing factor apart from magic that would guarantee their release, what would appease the enchantments of the mirror, what would rebuke the ancient curses and allow the gateway to open for them? What was it that was required to survive upon the other side of the glass, that the reflection had had to acquire to stand mockingly in the alien, foreign land? Magic of her own certainly, but what else? The answer came to Mildred in a breathless instant, shocked at her own ability to think around the apparently unsolvable problem.

Blood.

The doppelgänger needed flesh and blood to sustain herself, a permanent body in which to reside, a payment which would allow her to walk through the entrance to the mortal world unquestioned, unrestricted by the strict laws of nature, free to roam as she saw fit as long as a pulse was flickering away steadily beneath the alabaster skin. Blood, the universal fluid of life, the carrier of oxygen which fed the demanding cells, the sustaining fluid which supported life itself, pumped regularly by every beat of the bass ostinato that was the heart, every contraction and dilation of the myogenic tissue assuring the presence of existence for another unit of time.

Reaching up to the freezing surface, wincing slightly as her skin made contact with the chilling wall, Mildred closed her eyes, diverting her attention from what was about to happen. She couldn't stand the sight or smell of blood, particularly her own, but if it was what it would take to ensure their freedom, she didn't have a minute to loose. Steeling herself mentally, trying to quell the sickening churning of her uneasy stomach and supress the burning wave of acid that was gathering at the back of her confined throat, she took a deep, shaky breath as she recited the short spell, careful not to be too enthusiastic in her casting, not wishing to lose a limb amidst the exacting process, her concentration levels functioning at their utmost.

"**Malima sanguitalus!" **she whispered, bracing herself for the razor sharp pain that she knew would most likely accompany the spell, a faint cobweb of microscopic fissions opening slowly across her extended index finger, carefully allowing a single droplet of the precious ruby liquid to escape, trickling slowly down the sub-zero surface, a defining line between the dimensions shimmering into view in the wake of the restorative gift, slowly peeling apart to allow the mysterious shimmer of moonlight to shine unhindered into the dark ravine, a new dawn emerging in the morning sky, saturating the world in the bloody red of the rebirth, signalling the triumphant re-emergence of the unified witches, the two lost souls re-entering the mortal world hand in hand acting as each other's guiding light, the beginning of a new era, the formation of a new level of trust between the two women.

Time slipped by unnoticed as Mildred gently rocked the quietly slumbering form of the exhausted potions mistress, her small hands combing away the soaking tendrils of hair that were plastered in icy spirals to the frozen forehead of the semi-conscious woman, not wanting to leave her to seek assistance, deriving an odd feeling of security from the minuscule weight resting in her lap that reminded her that against all odds, they had survived. Reaching forwards, she snagged the edge of the purple woollen throw which still covered the bed which hadn't been slept in since that disastrous night, pulling it towards her and tucking the cosy fabric around the vulnerable figure of the witch, cocooning her inside the warming material, soothing her troubled brow with her cool hands just like Constance's mother had all those fated years ago, whispering gentle reassurances into her delicate ears, the warm breath tickling slightly as she conveyed her ceaseless message of love and support for the woman whom she had previously despised.

Looking down at the faintly lined complexion, she pondered idly to herself that Miss Hardbroom really could have been breath-taking in her beauty, the flawless, high cheek bones and almond eyes contributing to an amazingly feline stare, the mass of glossy ebony hair effortlessly framing her oval face, falling in a tumbling cascade of dark curls over her narrow shoulders, but there was a hidden reserve of bitterness that was poisoning her from within, the weight of the world being born upon her narrow shoulders as the emotional tumults fought intensely for supremacy over the decaying bridge between sanity and madness, threatening to jettison her into the awaiting chasm, dashing her frail form to pieces upon the intolerant boulders below. There was something of the sleeping tigress about her, stunning in her striking contrasts, a majestic, imperial strength evident in immeasurable quantities, but the hidden, raging power and perpetual uncertainty leaving the viewer in the constant, uneasy state of fear that a scathing attack was going to be launched, that the huntress would awake unannounced and pounce upon whomever had grown too close for her liking.

Alone, with nothing but the overriding silence of the room, Mildred began to speak gently to the sleeping woman, in full knowledge of the fact that a situation like this would never be permitted to arise again by the controlled woman, airing her thoughts and thanks to the witch who had lead her so far along the path of magical development.

"I don't really know where to begin, Miss Hardbroom," she began nervously, twisting her fingers in her rapidly unwinding plaits, "You don't like procrastination or uncertainty, do you? You like us to get to the point, to be focused, to be logical above all things!" she permitted herself a small, anxious smile at this point, "But, it's to you Miss Hardbroom that I want to address this, you may not be able to hear me, mercifully may not have any recollection of my stumblings and murmurs, but I want you to know this, this truth that has come to me over the last few weeks, the thought that has plagued me since it came to me."

She paused, her hand resting lightly upon the slowly rising and falling neck of the witch, feeling the steady thud of the restoring pulse twitching away beneath the skin.

"You want us to see you as the fearsome dictator, unflinching, irascible, disciplined and unyielding, afraid to show any supposed "weakness" that could be used in criticism of your flawless character, almost scared to show any love or compassion, but it shines through from you if you look hard enough, catch the rare glimpse of the loving, kind woman within, always encouraging us and pushing us to work harder if you can see potential."

She paused to gather her words, carefully musing over the finer details.

"I suppose that's why I always thought that you hated me, always picking on me, but not to be cruel, because you could see that I had the capability to master the complex magic, I just needed the belief, the expression of confidence in me from somebody, and that's why, that day two weeks ago, when you smiled, when you said well done, that I finally felt as if I had achieved!"

Mildred gently bent forward, summoning the courage to say what she could never have said to the commanding witch whilst she was conscious, and whispered quietly into the ear of the unresponsive witch.

"However afraid you may be to show emotion, whatever happened in your past, I can sense that there is still a huge amount of pain within you, it's eating away at your insides…"

Tears were forming in her eyes now as she delivered the final plea to the witch.

"Just, please, please find the strength to allow the pain to escape… please…. before it, k-kills y-you…"

She burst into an uncontrollable flood of silent tears as she cradled the tortured woman in her lap, her caring nature in torment over the sight of the anguish trapped within her.

Footsteps fell on the stone floor of the passage outside, causing Mildred to gasp in fear, involuntarily clutching the immobile body closer, and shielding her from the unseen threat as the projected shadow of the approaching figure moved slowly and purposefully towards them. A shudder of dread passed through her, not the evil reflection again? Had she survived against what Mildred's dazed eyes were telling her?

The echoing clink of the gates opening in the lock seemed to echo, amplified to a thousand times their original volume, the harsh sound hanging purposefully in the still night air as the anonymous presence finally entered the room, the heavy tread of carpet slippers sliding slowly towards the trembling Mildred.

The concerned face of Amelia Cackle swam into view, come to investigate the alarming screams and shouts that had been emanating from the West turret for most of the evening, as she knelt painfully on the stone floor beside her beleaguered pupil, enveloping her in a warm, cosy hug, the rich, sweet smelling perfume that was embedded in the fluffy material of her dressing gown dispersing into the surrounding area.

"Shhh," she soothed quietly as the young girl sobbed into her shoulder, "don't worry my dear, everything is going to be alright," she continued to massage small circles into the back of the crying witch until her sobs subsided, nestling into the comforting embrace offered to her by the motherly headmistress.

"Now then," started Amelia gently, wiping away the last trickle of salty tears from Mildred's face with a lacy handkerchief embroidered with the school crest of a black cat perched elegantly upon a yellow half-moon, "What on earth happened Mildred? What has happened to Constance?"

Mildred raised her reddened eyes to the headmistress and patiently began to recount the complex turn of events, not pausing in her never ceasing tale until she reached the present moment, watching the dawning look of horror appear on the kindly face of Amelia Cackle as she realised the bitter implications of the gift that she had unwittingly bestowed upon her loyal friend, a gift which, she realised with a sickening surge of guilt, could have easily lost Constance her life.

"This is all my fault…" she murmured in stunned shock, her heartbeat racing inside her chest as she surveyed the peacefully sleeping figure of Constance, counting the slow rise and fall of her chest as she drew in air to her body, a grave sense of doom falling upon her like a thunderbolt from the skies, tearing mercilessly into her heart as she dared to even contemplate the heart-wrenching loss of the woman who had become akin to her adoptive daughter, the devastating image of accidental manslaughter echoing permanently around her scarred senses as she reached out and placed a gentle kiss upon the cold, clammy forehead of the witch who was lucky to be alive. Why hadn't she acted upon those nagging doubts? Questioned the intruder? Persisted until she had discovered the truth, and trusted her usually infallible instincts to provide the answer to the glaring reservations which were racing inside her mind?

"This is all my fault!" she repeated angrily, more to herself than anybody else as she climbed determinedly to her feet, trembling with supressed rage, leaving a perplexed Mildred to watch on in shock as Amelia hurled a vicious curse at the epicentre of the priceless mirror, shattering it into a complete spectrum of glinting colours as the shards erupted into a rainbow, flying out of the ornate silver frame in a blur of glass, falling to the floor in a graceful arc, smashing into further smithereens upon contact with the dense stone.

Mildred ventured to intervene, but a faint moan from the stirring body of Constance Hardbroom diverted the attention of both witches, both instantly moving closer to the frail witch who had somehow found the inner strength and resolve to cling on against the almost magnetic, intense pull of death, waiting with unerring patience for her saviour to come to her rescue. The pale eyelids fluttered, opening to reveal the hazel eyes which were brimming over with tears of relief and gratitude as her disbelieving eyes saw the world that she had feared that she had left for the last time, the glorious sea of colours and textures flooding back into her vision, casting away the ethereal monochrome gloom and allowing the sparkling detail to wash over her appreciative retinas. Constance reached up with a shaking hand which she rested gently against Mildred's sodden cheek, finally allowing herself to speak from her heart, an outpouring of genuine thanks and emotion.

"Millie,"… she breathed faintly, a gentle smile playing around her lips as she looked into the startlingly blue eyes of her previously annoying pupil, the years of mistrust and uncertainty falling away in one simple gesture as she realised the magnitude of the emotional maturity and magic required to break the complex enchantments, a feat of such difficultly that she knew that even her mighty powers would struggle to cope with.

"Millie, you saved me…" the cracked voice continued, vocal cords being exercised which had laid stubbornly dormant for the past fortnight, "You showed an unbelievable courage and resourcefulness tonight, and an unwavering loyalty to both me and the academy, a completely selfless act that was riddled with danger and self-sacrifice. Words cannot express my gratitude to you, for all you've done, f-for the t-trust and strength that you've s-shown…"

She dissolved into exhausted tears as she exchanged a look with Mildred, the one glance being enough to confirm that she had indeed heard Mildred's solitary confessions, and was now attempting to be brave enough to shrug off her past and move into the next phase of her life.

Constance made to speak once more, but was silenced quickly by both Mildred and Amelia as they leant forward and joined her in an emotionally charged embrace, the warmth of the love radiating from them beginning to thaw the icy layer of the eternal bitter winter that covered the heart of the troubled witch, the final departure of the Snow Queen from within her wintery heart. The time would come for her to face the oppressive demons of her past and would need to draw heavily upon the support of her beloved friends to conquer them, but for now, Amelia conceded, the focus must be placed firmly upon restoring Constance to physical health, the ordeal in the mirror had all but left her as a human skeleton, bones protruding alarmingly from all areas of her body, a pitiful sight that almost brought more tears to the stinging eyes of the motherly woman as she remained wrapped in the hug. But, she resolved, slowly stroking the tangled mass of dark curls of the rescued sorceress as the witches remained in their shared embrace, actions truly speaking louder than the most expressive of words, she had her beloved Constance back, and the seeds were now in place for the healing to begin, the new shoots of hope being allowed to blossom and take root, growing healthily into the beautiful blooms of regrowth, the golden sunshine escaping from behind the grey, stagnant clouds and shedding a beautiful new light of optimism across the landscape as she moved ever closer along the mountainous path to the coveted attainment of the gentle harmonies of peace within the stormy seas of her troubled mind.

**THE END**


End file.
